


How Fred and George Accidentally Befriended a Wannabe Dark Lord

by map_of_mysteries



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Empathy Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Dubious Morality, Fix-It, Gen, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Horcruxes, Humor, Light-Hearted, Pranks and Practical Jokes, References to Muggle Culture and Objects, except when it’s not, filling up the holes in the older years with original characters, then it’s just pure crack, unreliable narrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 90,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27472741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/map_of_mysteries/pseuds/map_of_mysteries
Summary: Fred opened the book and began to write. He only got a few words down before the diary absorbed them, the ink vanishing without a trace, prompting George to lean in closer to observe.“Maybe this is some elaborate joke on Ginny’s part to educate us on proper brotherly behaviour?” George mused, just as new words began to appear on the empty page. Well, that seemed a bit ambitious for a first year…‘Hello. To whom might I be writing?'Or: What if the Weasley twins had been the ones who found Tom Riddle’s diary?
Relationships: Harry Potter & Fred Weasley & George Weasley, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle & Fred Weasley & George Weasley
Comments: 100
Kudos: 223
Collections: 5 Star HP Works





	1. Chapter 1

In the summer between his third and fourth year, George Weasley had a brilliant idea. It was hilarious, truly. Just imagine, gifting the gnomes in the garden with the ability to fly. Not float around or something equally as silly, that would be a piece of cake to achieve and most assuredly not worth his or Fred’s time, but giving them wings so that they could take to the skies on their own? That was a worthy endeavour. Especially as none of their siblings would be able to escape the airborne menaces. Why, they might even get into Percy’s room and sit on his head and pull out his hair. Yes, it was a _brilliant idea_.

Of course, before the plan could be implemented, it needed to be approved by his twin. Because while George had the imagination to provide hundreds of ideas, some of them were _slightly_ insane and at times incredibly harmful for everyone around him… But this plan, the plan to make a gnome fly into Percy’s room and bite his nose or spill ink all over his things, was very much approved by Fred once he had been briefed. Both of them would no doubt enjoy the gobsmacked faces of their relatives when confronted with dozens of winged gnomes. Who knows, maybe they could even expand upon the idea? Surely there were other beings that could be given wings. Cats maybe, or what about grindylows?

And so, the brothers planned. They researched and tested multiple potions until they accomplished one that would, combined with some nifty transfiguration on Fred’s part, give the gnomes the ability to fly. The plan was simple. They would enchant the gnomes after returning from the already arranged shopping trip to Diagon Alley in a couple of days. The brothers’ actions would go unnoticed while everyone would be occupied by unpacking their purchases.

However, things did not go exactly as planned. First, he and Fred had to break Harry out of the house the boy had the misfortune of living in. Then, George and his siblings watched their father get into an actual fist fight with the Malfoy patriarch. Which – fine, was one of the most amusing things he had seen all year, but it also put everyone into that _particular_ mood where the genius that was one of George and Fred’s pranks would not be appreciated. But still, he held onto hope.

Of course, the thing that truly put a stop to the plan was Fred tripping on a gnome just as they entered the garden after the shopping trip. George sighed as his brother fell flat on his face, the vial holding the potion tumbling out of Fred’s shirt and shattering into a million pieces. They could only watch in dismay as the concoction flowed out over the grass. The potion did not even have the courtesy of landing on the offending gnome.

Which had led to both of them being berated by their mother. It consisted of her screaming in their faces and going on about their awful behaviour, and could they not be more like their older brothers? Nice, upstanding, honourable… she must have said a lot more, but George kind of zoned out somewhere in the middle there, so he could really not say one way or another.

In the end George and Fred were tasked with unpacking all of the day’s purchases. Being forced to sort through every single item while sitting on the floor in the living room, while tedious, did have some advantages. It should be pointed out that this is not a good punishment. Honestly, their mother was giving the pranksters unlimited access to the family’s belongings, which was equal to asking for some tampering. But well. It seemed as if that woman would never learn.

This was the reason that, upon looking through dear Ginevra’s things, George came upon a black diary. There was nothing remarkable about the small book, except that it was something Ginny must have swiped, because they certainly had not heard about her getting anything not necessary for schoolwork. Thus, it would simply be _impolite_ to let this kleptomaniac streak of their sister’s continue uninhibited. They were doing their _brotherly duty_ of educating the baby in the family by taking it off her hands. And if George found it entertaining to rally up the only worthy opposition still living in the house, well, that was his business.

When night came, the twins decided to investigate their pilfered price.

And then discovered that it might have been a miscalculation to steal the diary as it was entirely empty. No blackmail material, no humiliating stories, not even a tiny secret. At least it would not go to waste. The notebook they used to write down inventions in was getting full, and they would need a new one in a couple of weeks. While the diary was somewhat small for this purpose they might have to use it for recording inventions anyway. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

And this was how a small, black diary came to be stored at the bottom of the trunk of one George Weasley.

oooOOooo

With all the commotion brought on by the beginning of the new school year (and stupidity. _Really_ Ronnie, stealing dad’s flying car and getting _caught_?) George and his twin completely forgot that they had brought a small book stolen from Ginny to school. Both of them had other things to occupy their time. Like convincing Lee Jordan that it would be a great idea to go down to the Black lake in search of some grindylows. Which they of course succeeded in.

The sun was starting to set when the three Gryffindors sneaked out of the school using the shadows to hide their voyage to the lake. While down by the shore setting up a trap to catch some water living creatures Lee asked, “Do you think this would work on spiders as well? Because I feel like my Wimberly could really do with some new additions.”

“I don’t –”

“– see why not,” Fred finished with a small grin.

The following events were described to George and Company by the portraits of Hogwarts, as the friends could not be present at multiple places at the same time. It followed as thus:

The Ravenclaw prefects woke to screaming coming from their common room and, after going down to investigate, discovered two flying grindylows peering in from outside a window.

It took some time to turn the creatures haunting the common room back to normal, as Professor McGonagall had bigger transfiguration related issues to deal with that fine morning. Trying to placate Mr Filch, for example. It was hard work convincing the man that his cat was not in any danger of dropping dead because of her feathery additions _while also_ trying to capture said cat in order to reverse whatever had happened. Especially as Mrs Norris had found herself enamoured with the ability to fly around and was being extremely uncooperative.

There was a similar sight to behold in the Gryffindor common, but there only one student was sprinting about howling. Apparently, dear Ronald did not appreciate Lee’s tarantula taking flight. Who would have thought?

And so, the first week back at Hogwarts had George and Fred spending most of their time in detention. This also meant that both of them missed out on being dragged out of bed by Oliver Wood (such a loss) and the ensuing confrontation with the Slytherins. This meant they also missed their brother puking slugs (thankfully… ahem, _tragically_ the muggle born first year immortalised the entire event. Fred did not have copies of the photos spelled to the inside of his trunk, _obviously_ ). No snake fighting for them, stuck cleaning cauldrons as they were.

It was only after the detentions were dealt with and when the twins’ old Grimoire of Pranks was full, that George remembered the diary hidden away in his trunk.

Professor Flitwick had brought up an obscure spell that would keep doors locked during the last lesson. Even if he only mentioned it as a side note as an example of a spell that could withstand an _Alohomora_ it was still highly interesting. George decided to look it up as he and his brother would no doubt find many uses for it. So, after finding the incantation in the library both brothers agreed on it being the first spell to be written down in their new notebook.

That night found George and Fred sitting crossed legged on Fred’s bed with the scarlet hangings pulled closed around them. With a whispered “ _Lumos_ ” a small light appeared at the tip of George’s dogwood wand and it was time to get to work. Fred opened the book and began to write. He only got a few words down before the diary absorbed them, the ink vanishing without a trace, prompting George to lean in closer to observe.

“Maybe this is some elaborate joke on Ginny’s part to educate us on proper brotherly behaviour?” George mused, just as new words began to appear on the empty page. Well, that seemed a bit ambitious for a first year…

‘ _Hello. To whom might I be writing?_ ’

George glanced at his brother, who simply raised an eyebrow and closed the book. Nothing more was said as they began to cast diagnostic charms on the self-writing book.

George might have been impressed by the feat of the diary, had he and his brother not come across the _Marauder’s Map_ in their first year. After finding out that it could communicate, the twins had spent hours in the library researching spells. They looked up most hexes or curses capable of giving objects the ability to converse that could be found in the library in order to make sure that the parchment they had found was safe to use. Honestly, as if either of them would blindly follow directions from a piece of talking paper. They were not daft. Fred even asked their housemates for tips on figuring out if something is sentient (which was how they learnt of the Turing test from a muggle-born student that liked computers. Not that it was very useful for _this_ , but fascinating trivia all the same in George’s opinion).

Although both twins had come out of the research spree with a _healthy apprehension_ (read, terror inducing _nightmares_ ) off any object capable of holding conversations.

But the point was; they knew how to handle this development.

After a couple of days spent investigating the spells on the diary the only things they uncovered were a potent compulsion to write in the book, as well as an almost _obscene_ amount of protection spells and runes. It was a bit tricky (reed: extremely hard, George even singed his hair) to remove said compulsion, as it had a tendency to _fight back_. But in the end, they were victorious. The twins did not bother removing any of the protection spells. After all, someone had spent a lot of time constructing those protections and it felt a bit underhanded eradicating all that hard work. Not to mention time consuming, so they simply let them be.

( _Why_ the person responsible for creating the diary’s defences considered lavatory proofing the book a necessary precaution was another question entirely. Maybe they were afraid of it getting flushed down the toilets?)

This done, both boys felt comfortable opening the book once more.

‘Still in there Mr Diary?’, George wrote on the blank page.

‘ _The name is Riddle, if you would be so kind. And yes, obviously I am still here. And who might you be?_ ’

As George was about to reply, Fred snagged the book from his hands and, after some consideration, simply wrote ‘Forge’. While they did not find any truly spiteful spells on the diary giving out either of their true names felt like a bad idea. Although the name they had agreed upon was decidedly not Forge. George huffed a little at his brother’s antics but let him be.

‘ _Well, if you say so, Forge. I do have some questions, however. How did you happen upon my diary? And if you would be so kind as to write down the year as well? How about…_ ’

The beautiful script was sophisticated, although the demanding tone quite blemished the impression of maturity.

Spending the rest of the night answering questions asked by the self proclaimed Riddle was not really George’s idea of a good time but as the questions seemed harmless, he decided to let Fred indulge the diary. After all, it must be _exceedingly boring_ spending one’s time as a book. Thus, he even took over the duty of answering the ever-continuing flood of inquiries when Fred began to complain about his hand being sore, all the while trying to probe for some information himself.

Not that he got much.

A mention in passing about being a memory and some context clues of Riddle having been a student of the school. Hopefully it would not take much to find some more information.

After combing through the school archives there was aggravatingly little to find on Riddle. Luckily Fred was somewhat more successful looking up the name by other avenues, finding mentions of a boy named T. M Riddle in the trophy room for Special Services to the School. But there was little else to find.

In the days that followed the twins continued to write to Riddle. In the beginning the diary tried to sound courteous (could they call it him? The sorting hat identified as man, right? The same thing could be true for this book. Or maybe Riddle was a woman? Something in between? After asking Riddle he got the answer that, yes, Riddle was indeed male). While it was obvious that he possessed manners, it was just as clear that he would rather go without the previously mentioned manners. More and more Riddle’s snarky side started to shine through the pretty words.

George and Fred, being the _gentlemen_ that they were, obviously pointed these inconsistencies out to the diary-boy. Prompting Riddle to go right back to his _charming self_ , pretending as if nothing happened.

Well, at least that’s what he did the first couple of dozen times. He quite clearly gave up after the nth time, feeling the need to point out their (or _his_ , _Forge’s_ , as it was) ‘utter stupidity’ in as many words as he could, with many exaggerations and underlining.

“So, brother of mine, what do you think it _actually_ is?”, Fred asked one night while they were putting away the diary.

“I assume it is some variation of the many spells making up things like the Sorting Hat or that talking statue in Greece. Sentient objects with personality, probably someone’s pet project or possibly some prototype. “

“Well above our skill level either way –”

“Not _that much_ above. We could do it, if we tried.”

“…Whatever you have to say to sleep at night, brother. But it is worth looking into, no?”

However, with everything going on during the start of term and all the projects they already had, unearthing the true nature behind the diary did get put far down on the ‘to do’ list. It was not dangerous, obviously, and they had more important things going on. It could wait for later.

For example, they finally got themselves an actual notebook to write down spells both of them invented in (since the one they planned to use was already occupied by Mr Snarky Memory who did not approve of being used as such, and had a tendency of eating their ink). After owl-ordering a leather notebook from Flourish and Blotts (with their own savings) they got started on refining it. George added a variation of the normal extension charm together with a duplicate spell to make sure they would not run out of pages while still having a somewhat slim book. Thanks to Riddle’s diary they had also gained some delightful insights on how to properly protect something of value and added that as well.

(Those same insights were also inordinately useful while setting up pranks. Do you have any idea of how much more efficient one can make a time delayed prank with runes? No? The answer is _a lot_ )

He had to do it over a couple of days though, as some were especially tasking and he still wanted to have magic left to use during lessons (and Fred would not be trusted with high level charms work if George was there, obviously being the superior twin when it came to that particular magical art).

At least they had gained something from the book, even if this was only ways to stop people from summoning belongings (useful), making stuff impervious to firewhiskey (…sure) or preventing men from concealing your property inside of colourful socks (…why Riddle, just… _why_?).

oooOOooo

Fred was running late for Transfiguration class after being holed up in the library finishing the assignment for said class. He (and George) had been preoccupied with making their own Grimoire, of sorts, and it had completely slipped his mind that there was actual schoolwork to be finished.

He was just rounding a corner when he heard a distinct cry of rage, just similar enough to his mother’s for it to be alarming, coming from the opposite direction he was going in. _Well_ , he was already five minutes late, might as well see what had little Ginny blowing her fuse.

Making his way towards the commotion got a bit harder when he noticed the crowd circling his angry little sister, who was planted between a bunch of Ravenclaw girls and a small blond drenched in water.

“You _kangaroo buggering arseholes_! How _DARE_ you! You should be ashamed of yourself, bullying a girl two years younger than you!”

By this point it was very obvious that Ginny was furious. Her red hair was wiping around her head and there were actual sparks flying from her finger as she pointed it at the older girls. As his sister started advancing towards her opponents her accidental magic ( _please_ let it be accidental. Fred could not deal with his sister being able to sap him wandlessly) flared brighter.

Fred was going to have to interfere. He raised his trusted walnut wand _inconspicuously_ , an incantation ready on his tongue. But it turned out to be unnecessary as Professor Flitwick came scurrying towards them. He stayed just long enough to get a feel for what was going on before departing.

Though he did make sure to look closely at the faces of the bullies. Both he and George had been accused of bullying before, but if they ever actually hurt someone’s feelings, they always tried to apologise. Except for targeting their friends or family with specific pranks, they never targeted individual people with their jokes, instead making plans where no one specific would be targeted.

…Except for in the cases of bullies, of course.

Now, maybe he should try to find Peeves. There was a poltergeist who was always up for making students’ lives harder. By second year George had finally come up with a way of persuading the resident trickster into doing their bidding. Just a tiny bit of bribery in the form of dung bombs or water balloons every other month and he was quite happy to annoy people when asked, and today Fred had some specific Ravens in mind.

He ended up missing the entire Transfiguration class, but sometimes needs must. Needs must.

oooOOooo

It turned out that Fred’s plan for getting information out of the snarky diary by asking inconspicuous questions was a bust. While he and George got to learn lots of fancy evasive manoeuvres, sneaky ways to change topics (they were totally using those two to get out of trouble), and many new synonyms used to describe ‘Forge’s’ imbecilic dunderheadedness (Snape would be so proud if he had read that particular tirade of Riddle’s). None of those things had any real substance, though. After getting answers like ‘ _that’s an interesting question, why not look it up in a library?_ ’ and ‘ _I’m sure I have no idea what you mean_ ’ one too many times it appeared as if a change of tactics was needed. Instead of throwing in seemingly random inquiries every once in a while, they were going to try doing it the _Gryffindor way_.

Simply ask what you would like to know, no underhandedness was necessary. And had they not earned some answers? After all, both brothers had spent countless evenings answering Riddle’s questions, the least he could do in return was to satisfy their immense curiosity.

They were planning on asking important things, like how he ended up recording memories in a diary... but got a bit side-tracked learning he was a former Slytherin. After all, it was the only common room they had yet to enter. It did not appear on the Marauder’s Map (and they had no way of getting inside without getting mobbed by angry Snakes). That was not the end of Riddle’s knowledge. Turns out he knew of some secret passages neither they nor the Marauders had found.

No one could blame them for grilling Tom on his knowledge, surely?

‘Just for reference sake, but what does T. M. stand for?” Fred wrote.

Below it, George added, ‘Talking Menace?’

Fred sighed aloud. “Really?”

‘ _Excuse you! It most certainly does not. It stands for Tom Marvolo, you brute. But I do not know why I expected better from your doltish self. As it is, I am still surprised by the half-wittedness of Hogwarts students these days. Heart-breaking, is what it is._ ’

‘You could just ignore us, you know? Nobody is making you write to us,’ Fred pointed out, knowing full well that Tom (apparently) had been bored out of his mind before meeting ‘Forge’. Tom was at his best when a little annoyed.

It was also the simplest way of ending a conversation, as the memory was very capable of continuing on for hours. Real fond of his own voice… err, writing, he was.

‘ _Alas, as much as I wish for better company, you will have to do. Now, I have other things that I must get on with._ ’

‘You don’t say?’

‘ _Begone, thot!_ ’

And then Tom literally made the book close on his fingers.

“Ow,” Fred mumbled accusingly. Honestly, and he was calling Forge an immature brat. Pot, meet kettle.

oooOOooo

An important part of George’s day was finding new and improved ways of driving the student body of Hogwarts mad. Could not let people forget about the Weasley twins, now could he?

Not that that was about to happen anytime soon.

As it was, a lot of the school’s rulebreakers currently had it in for him and Fred as they _accidentally_ made sneaking out after hours substantially harder. Not only could you no longer hear Mrs Norris coming, as she now glided silently through the air, she was also a lot faster. Getting Filch and chasing after students was apparently a lot easier with wings. The caretaker had even thanked them for so graciously making his life easier.

Not exactly what either of them had had in mind with their first prank of the term.

George and Fred were going down the stairs heading towards the library, for once not to invent some new prank, but to do their homework as George had an essay to write for Muggle Studies. George had no idea how this ended up being his favourite subject, something he actually took time for and even took the initiative to read ahead on (although it might have something with their father’s obsession. Possibly).

After going to his first lesson (without Fred, that ponce having decided to study _Arithmancy_ , which just – no. No weird equations and wonky theory, please, he got enough of that in Transfiguration) he found himself completely sold on the subject. It was so diverse! The class would read about movies, the Queen of England, refrigerators, fast-food restaurants… you name it and they had read about it (the you in question being a muggle, that is).

The only awful thing about the subject was physics. Admittedly, he usually got Fred to impersonate him when they worked on that particular branch of the muggle sciences (which his brother had fallen in love with, unexpectedly, math loving freak that he was. Thus, Fred was now the owner of no more than five science books the two of them had _liberated_ from a muggle library). This was also the reason George had his brother accompanying him today, as he needed all the help he could get while working on gravity and centrifugal forces.

George got to the last step of the stairs just as a Hufflepuff seventh year came around a bend. He thought nothing of it, until the older boy began casting curses at them. Aha, must be another one of the unlucky sods whose romantic rendezvous were interrupted by the flying cat inhabiting the castle (there had been _a lot_ of those lately).

“How about we take another route, dear brother?” Fred said while ducking, the frizzling light just missing his hair.

“Why, I think that sounds like an excellent idea! Why don’t we just slip –”, he cut himself off in order throw his body out of the way of a purple hex that, if he recalled correctly, would have switch all his teeth for his fingers, “– into this corridor right here”, he finished dragging his brother along until he too started sprinting.

He slowed down when sure that they had shaken off their pursuer. That was when George stumbled upon an interesting portrait, hidden away in an alcove on the third floor.

“Hey Fred, look what I found!”

Fred came to take a closer look at the painting that caught George’s fancy. After all, George always was one to find useful things in the most unexpected of places. It depicted a room full of books with a skylight shining down upon the tiny glass globes floating in the air. But the thing that had drawn his interest was its inhabitant who was trawling around between the bookcases. A heavily scarred woman with messy black hair and a wand sticking out between her curls. There was also the bandolier thrown over the frilly 18th century ball gown (well, it might be 17th or 19th century… George was not an expert on muggle ball gowns).

“Is that…?”

“Gun ammunition for a muggle revolver, yes I do believe so,” George finished Fred’s sentence. “Do you think we might get her attention? She seems quite interesting.”

After all, most portraits in the castle were a bunch of busybodies. Useful in the cases of those they had charmed to give them gossip (well… that _Lee_ had charmed into giving them gossip), but less so in the cases where they reported students’ behaviour to the professors.

During his previous years George had come to learn that all interesting paintings tended to behave differently from the norm (the norm being the chatting gossipers commenting on the conduct of those passing beneath them). Whether that be totally ignoring those around them or blabbering absolute nonsense, in most cases if you won them over, they all had interesting knowledge to impart. For example, these interesting portraits knew a lot of… _questionable_ magic that one could not learn through the normal channels provided by the school.

“Excuse me Miss, but you would not happen to have some time for a couple of young students?” Fred said in a fair impression off their older brother Bill while in his Flirting Mode.

She slowly turned around and gave Fred a sceptical look through her glasses, silver eyes giving him a quick once over and from her expression not being overly impressed by what she found. With a small huff she started to make her way over to them.

“What do you want?” the woman asked exasperatedly. “I do not have time for idle chatter.”

Some might say that, being a painting, and thus not a real person, she should have all the time in the world to waste on conversing with children. But the interesting ones never were ones to care about what others thought.

The woman did not seem to find their inquiries worthy of her attention and did not see fit to grant them any knowledge pertaining to the secrets of Hogwarts. She simply huffed again and turned around making her way back to the shelves, grumbling about always attracting the barmy ones. Which sadly (for her) ensured their return. The reluctant ones were the ones with the best information.

So, after checking their location on the Marauder’s Map to make sure they could find it another time they continued on towards the library. George had an essay to finish!

oooOOooo

Most of the school (at least the part not made up of lovestruck fools) seemed to loathe the new Defence Against the Darks Arts professor, but neither George nor Fred was part of this group.

The man was obviously an _idiot_ , that much was undeniable. However, that did not mean that his lessons were not _entertaining_.

After some kind of incident involving pixies during the second-year class, Professor Lockhart apparently decided to change up his lesson plans for the older students. He would now set them researching different spells that he used in his books, making them demonstrate the magic used and thereafter having the best students (performance wise – in both acting and magical prowess) act the scene out.

This was like a dream come true for George and Fred. They could perform to their hearts’ content, going all out as dramatically as they wanted (and watching as annoying people in class _unexpectedly_ got hit by hexes from utterly _unknown_ sources every lesson and thus sent to the infirmary). The best part was that the Great Professor Lockhart allowed them to show off their products as part of the show, making special effects like sparks or light appear. It was both fantastic ways to test their newest inventions while also happening to be a good promotional occasion. For once they did not lose a single point in class (not that George cared about losing points, but people were always a bit friendlier when you did not strip them of a hundred points a week) but instead gained them.

So, DADA became something of a favourite class (after Muggle Studies – to George – and Transfiguration – to Fred). George and Fred had yet to see someone not in love with the teacher share their view... which was understandable. As previously mentioned, the man was quite possibly the most well-known hoax in Britain.

An opinion shared by Tom who, from listening to Forge’s stories of the DADA lessons, considered the man a mindless moron.

Tom’s passive dislike of the Professor reached its boiling point in late October, after being regaled by yet another of their stories.

The fourth year Gryffindor and Ravenclaws spent the majority of that day’s Defence lesson outside on the grounds, throwing each other up into the air. Which had, George observed resignedly, accidentally led to Fred sending a passing Hufflepuff fifth year thirty feet up into the air. It was kind of terrifying watching the teen fall down again in a blur of black robes and golden hair while screaming her lungs out. Only an _Arresto Momentum_ intoned by another student from the Hufflepuff girl’s class managed to slow down her fall. The piercing glare from near black eyes from the girl in question would probably haunt George for some time (which was saying something, considering that it had been levelled at Fred). Not to mention the gaggle of hostile Puffs backing her up, stuff of nightmares that was.

When George wrote to tell Tom about the event later that night the diary-boy went completely ballistic on the behalf of every Hogwarts student exposed to the teaching of Professor Lockhart. He started ranting about useless teachers that knew nothing of safety precautions or writing up lesson plans. Even worse, Professor Lockhart had taught the class the wrong pronunciation for the _Alarte Ascendare_ (a spell that was not meant for fourth year students according to Tom). And so, their resident snarky diary declared a one-sided war on Lockhart. Now he would demand to know what the teacher had brought up each lesson in order to tear every single utterance made by the man to pieces. Going into the theory of every spell used and proceeding to inform them of how _he_ would have conducted the lessons much better. This mad War of one-upping the Professor continued, but at least George and his twin got something out of it. Because it was not like Tom was wrong. Just listening to Tom rant was teaching them more than four years of schooling combined had managed.

oooOOooo

Fred was sneaking down to the kitchen at midnight when he came across Cedric Diggory (his somewhat of a childhood friend, if only because he was the closest person to his or George’s age who was not an idiot) sitting against the wall drinking hot chocolate. Abandoning his plan to persuade the House Elves to give him biscuits Fred instead sat down next to the blond boy, snagging the cup from the Hufflepuff’s grip as he had jumped at Fred’s sudden appearance and was not paying enough attention to defend it.

“Fancy seeing you out and about, Ced,” Fred remarked before taking a sip from the cup as he pointed to the badge his friend was holding with his other hand. “I am not sure you have noticed, but Prefect badges are for fifth years and up.”

Cedric gave him an innocent look widening his dark blue eyes in his patented I-Am-Innocent-And-Harmless smile (which he was very good at performing, to Fred’s utter misery. That bloke could get away with _anything_. Fred could not recall the number of stunts Cedric had pulled off without getting caught – if he was not so loyal his sneakiness would have no doubt put him in Slytherin). “The Ravenclaw Prefect on patrol duty today asked me to fill in; apparently there is a big test tomorrow.”

“I see you’re working hard.”

“I am taking a _short break_.”

“Whatever you say.” Fred replied while simultaneously evading the blond boy’s hands as he attempted to steal his chocolate back.

Cedric gave up with a huff a couple of minutes later and Fred took a victorious sip. “By the way, I heard you tried to off my cousin earlier this week.”

Fred gave him an incredulous stare. “I tried to do what, now?”

“According to the grapevine you threw her out of the window of the DADA classroom.”

“I haven’t – wait… The Hufflepuff I accidentally threw into the air is your cousin? Now that I think about it you do look kind of similar… But I thought you only had one cousin? Didn’t you always complain about how she set your hair on fire that time you unintentionally dropped her Nundu plushie in the toilet?”

“That is the one and only,” Cedric said while petting his hair morosely in remembrance (he had spent a week bald after that particular bout of accidental magic, if Fred recalled correctly).

“The one who transfigured every article of clothing owned by our Defence teacher to look like food and then fed it to the grindylows because the woman called Professor Sprout fat in our first year?”

Cedric hummed affirmably. “Yes. But you forgot about the Devils Snare she left in the professor’s bathroom.”

“I threw your murderous relative thirty feet up in the air,” Fred stated. He gave his friend a deadpan stare all the while contemplating the probability of him getting killed.

“Yep.”

“Well, drat it.” Fred was suddenly _very_ glad that he had apologised profusely after the incident… but _maybe_ he should apologise a couple of more times? Just to be on the safe side.

oooOOooo

Fred woke up by being literally dragged out of bed. He felt a hand close around his ankle that began to pull him down the bed until his bum connected painfully with the floor. Seconds later George joined him in an uncoordinated sprawl on the floor, looking groggy, as he too had been subjected to the maniac dragging people out of their beds before the crack of dawn. Fred might have been bewildered by this, if it was not for the fact that the same thing had happened on and off for weeks as Oliver Wood was even madder than usual. Ever since the start of term when the Slytherin team had shown off their new brooms the sixth year insisted that the Gryffindor Quidditch Team had to get up before dawn. With November – and there by the first quidditch match – approaching, Wood’s fervor was reaching new heights, aggravating the entire team.

The Gryffindors meandered their way down to the lockers on empty stomachs in unison. Soon enough they were airborne and doing arduous drills. But while Fred and the rest of the team might be complaining, all of them had to admit that they had never been better. The Chasers were in complete synchronisation, Harry was getting better at spotting the snitch and Wood seemed to be using shear zealousness to make his broom move faster to protect the goal. Although the moving fast part could be a result of the unusual amount of Bludgers that seemed to be aiming for his person during morning practise ( _wonder why that was_ ). Fred heard Wood swear that during some practises there had to have been three of the evil balls in play. Both of these occurrences were unrelated to the improvement of both Fred and George’s aiming, of course.

But the point was; the team was getting better.

Once this particular morning practise was over Fred had to drag both himself and George back to the Great Hall in order to eat. The two of them were feeling drained, not just because of the practise but because they had ended up spending the night writing to Tom for the third time in a row. If it was not for the fact that he knew with certainty that he and George had removed the compulsion while also feeling appeased by the lack of malevolent spells on the book he might have been worried by this loss of energy. As it was, Fred simply attributed it to lack of sleep. Nonetheless, this event did result in the brothers cutting down on their writing time somewhat.

The two of them did make sure to make the most out of the lowered time spent with the diary-boy. One conversation they had with the memory had led to the discovery of Tom’s vast knowledge of obscured and forgotten spells. After that his brother had made it his mission to learn every snippet of knowledge contained on the matter. As Tom was reluctant to share _anything_ without serious persuasion, this took considerable time. Luckily, they had worked out a system that shortened this amount substantially. Just provide Tom with anecdotes of all the _inane_ (according to Tom the Snarky Dork – for yes, Tom was a total dork, they had evidence) things they got up to would do the trick. Telling him of the time ‘Forge’ sent four toilet seats home to Ginny last year, some interesting facts (in essay length, of course) on the consistency of earth needed to grow Bouncing Bulbs or describing the exact pitch of Ron’s scream when confronted with spiders and Tom would suddenly be in a much more bestowing mode (if only to get them to stop talking). He and George were getting annoying Tom down to an _art form_ at this point.

And it was good, George having someone to discuss ancient magics with. Fred was always eager to listen, but it was different talking to someone who genuinely cared about the subject. It was such a hard subject as sometimes you would only get an outline of what the spell consisted of or other times get an incantation without receiving neither pronunciation nor wand movement, and the only way to master the spell was to spend hours buried in old tomes trying to find something similar. Then, when you got an inkling of how to advance, simply testing various movements or words until something worked. Many (there among Fred) found this process time consuming, but his brother simply loved trying to work out the puzzle. Fred understood that feeling, the one you got when everything fell right into place and you got the magic to _work_. And Tom, he understood.

Well, he understood the Tom _understanding_ part, seeing as he felt something quite similar when discussing arithmetic equations with the diary-boy (George had a tendency to zone out if Fred mentioned math in his vicinity).

One could not forget that this new knowledge they were acquiring also had the added benefit of making it easier to invent new pranks. With three brains (although one was not quite a brain… nor was the third member _strictly aware_ of his involvement in designing the pranks) working on the problem of putting new concepts together from scratch, looking at the problems from different angles, the most amazing things were possible.

Things that could save lives.

Although for the most part, it was spells that made all the books in the library sing that were accomplished. When students opened their tomes, they would belt out their content in the voices of the Hogwarts teachers. Professor McGonagall crooning on about the correct way of cutting asphodel roots or Snape singing the tales of Urg the Unclean.

Let’s just say that _that_ brought on an interesting week.

oooOOooo

The night of the Halloween Feast both George and Fred were absent from the festivities, as they had each acquired a set of ladybug antennas. Sadly, they did not look anything like the grand headwear the gingers had anticipated. Nothing like the cute diadem with fluffy balls at the end one Gryffindor first year had brought along to school that they used for inspiration. No, they had insect-like sprouts coming out of their ears (they were, originally, placed on the head, but when Fred tried to remove them, the antennas moved down) and were thus confined to the infirmary.

This also meant that both of them missed when one of the boys in Ron’s year accidentally set most of the decorations on fire. They also missed the subsequent fall of said decorations in a blazing inferno that almost killed four students (there amongst Harry). Luckily, the professors managed to stop it from hurting anyone, but George was pretty sure Fred would have liked to be present, if only to observe the spectacle. But, as stated, everyone came out unscathed. Thus the Gryffindor Team would not need to get a replacement seeker for their first match.

On the plus side, their accidental trip to the infirmary absolved them of their promise to escort Lee to Nearly-Headless-Nick’s death-day party. If there was one thing both George and Fred disliked about ghosts it was their alarming penchant for indulging rotten food.

Better off staying a night at the infirmary. Besides, Lee could surely go with someone else. George was pretty sure Ginny and their neighbour Luna was planning on visiting Sir Nicholas, so their friend would not be alone.

That night George fell asleep feeling queasy, as the potion to remove the antlers was sickness inducing. Not a good night.


	2. Chapter 2

The first quidditch match of the year was finally upon them. Which was fortunate for Wood; seeing as Fred was, by George’s estimation, less than two more morning practises away from pushing the older boy down the moving staircases. From the seventh floor. 

(… sometimes George worried about his brother’s homicidal tendencies) 

The Gryffindor Team was doing splendidly the first minutes of the match. George was having the time of his life targeting opponents to left and right. All was well – that was, until he noticed that the Bludger he was deflecting from Harry _kept coming back_. Not even Fred joining him in defence against the thing seemed to have any effect. It was obvious that something was going on, although George was having a hard time deciding what that something was. The Slytherin usually tried to be at least somewhat covert when it came to cheating during games. This was a bit much even for them. 

Not that the reason mattered all that much presently. The Rogue Bludger aiming for their pseudo brother was a bit more alarming at the moment. He could get back to the whys once Harry was no longer in danger of receiving a cracked skull. 

After the twelfth time deflecting the dratted ball, George gave up and signalled Wood to call for a time-out. 

However, no malignant magic was found upon the Bludger and the game started up again. This assessment of the ball’s non-lethal nature was quite faulty, George thought, seeing as the thing got right back to stalking Harry around the pitch. Bat gripped in his hands; George had readied for a drawn-out battle with said ball for the rest of however long the game was set to continue. Until Harry waved him off, that was. Of course, being the self-sacrificing idiot that he was, Harry wanted both George and Fred to focus on protecting the other players. Thus, giving the Chasers a greater chance at getting the Quaffle across the field while also allowing the Seeker greater room to manoeuvre. George doubted that would end well for the younger boy. Because of the, you know, angry Bludger following him. Those were kind of counterproductive for free manoeuvrability. 

But he listened to Harry all the same (although both he and Fred made sure to deflect the Rogue Bludger any time they happened to be close to the second year. Which just so happened to be quite often. Such a coincidence). 

It turned out that George’s doubts were unfounded, Harry managing to catch the Snitch not even fifteen minutes after the game had resumed. There was not even a scratch to be found on him – on behalf of the Bludger, at least. The boy ended up receiving quite the number of cuts anyway as he had seen fit to throw himself off of his own broom. 

George flew down, Fred hot on his heel, to celebrate and check on Harry. He was almost to the ground when something flew past his ear, nearly pushing him of his broom. The blur – the Rogue Bludger he found himself noting – was moving so fast he had no time to interfere. Unrelentingly the ball headed towards Harry, who still lying prone on the ground. For a moment it looked as if Harry would manage to roll out of its way, but the Bludger banked, following the boy’s movements. 

There was a horrific crunch as the ball connected with Harry’s left arm. 

The Bludger moved as if going in for a second hit, but this time both he and Fred were ready. While the ball had attacked the first time the twins had reached for their boots and were now able to draw their wands out of their shoes in tandem. 

“ _Confringo!_ ” they yelled as one, subsequently obliterating the Bludger in a blaze of fire (thank Merlin for Tom and his obsessive need to one up their Defence professor. There was no way either of them would have been able to pull that spell of before listening to Tom’s hour-long rant about legal spells capable of blowing things up). 

George stuffed his dogwood wand back into his right boot (storing a wand in a holster situated on the arm or leg would be like asking for it to be broken when one was a Beater. Things had a tendency to end up broken during quidditch matches). 

With the danger dealt with (rather spectacularly, George thought proudly) George and Fred touched down on the ground next to Harry. Fred sunk down on his knees next to the hurt boy while George hoovered over his left shoulder. In the background he could hear others make their way down to the pitch, but he tuned it out, focusing instead on the boy lying on the ground. 

“You alright there, mate?” Fred asked with a frown while lifting the, most likely, broken arm and inspecting it. George’s suspicion was confirmed after his brother cast a diagnostic charm; the arm was very much broken. “We should get you up to the infirmary before –” he was cut off by Professor Lockhart settling down on the other side of Harry. 

“Not to worry, Harry. I’ll get your arm back to normal in but a moment,” Lockhart said calmly, smiling brightly. 

The young seeker’s eyes widened, and he let out a low groan, making an aborted motion away from the blond man. “Not you. _Anybody_ but you,” Harry croaked out. He glanced at the people surrounding them almost franticly, no doubt looking for that _anybody_. 

“Oh, you poor boy. No idea what you’re saying! Just lay down, and I’ll fix that arm right up,” the professor said soothingly, reaching for Harry’s arm. 

Normally George might have let things play out, always enjoying the ways their teacher managed to muck things up (sorry prof.). But this was _Harry_ andexceptions had to be made. 

“I’ve done this charm countless time –” 

George pretended to stumble into the Professor at the same time as Fred gently lifted Harry’s arm out of the way, preventing it from being further broken in the shuffling that followed. 

“Sorry – so sorry! Didn’t see you there, Professor – _oh dear_ , that looks bad,” George mumbled once he got past Professor Lockhart and caught a close-up sight of Harry’s mangled arm. He wasted no time picking the seeker up. “We better get that looked at. Shall we?” 

oooOOooo 

Fred watched as his twin cradled little Harry in his arms and shot up from the ground, heading back towards the castle. Lockhart made as to follow but seemed to trip on his feet. Still on the ground, Fred caught a glimpse of a certain bushy haired girl quickly stuffing her wand away and had to hide a smirk. 

By the time the adult wizard made it back to his feet, George was long gone. 

Deciding that he did not particularly want to wait for his brother by the pitch, Fred headed to the lockers. He intended to indulge in a well-deserved shower. 

Once he got out there was still no sign of George, so Fred headed back to the school with his remaining Gryffindor teammates who all went to check on Harry. After determining that the boy was fine, and would be out of the infirmary by supper, Fred took off on his own towards the library (George having disappeared off to Merlin knows where). 

When browsing the library for something interesting to read while waiting for George he came upon his little sister and Luna Lovegood, the blond Ravenclaw he had found her defending about a month ago. He was glad that the problem with the older girls in her house appeared to have been solved (Flitwick could be _terrifying_ when truly upset, and a case of interhouse bulling would be just the thing to make that feeling emerge) and ended up helping them with some charms work for an hour before moving on. 

A couple of hours later he was still sitting in the library with a new physics book borrowed from a muggleborn Ravenclaw. He was trying to see if he could calculate which spells would be able to pass through different materials without relying on the trial and error method of physically testing it. He wanted a formula, enabling him to figure out his energy output before firing off his spells. As spells must be made up of energy, it stood to reason that it should be some kind of electromagnetic radiation. The more energy it had, the thicker material it should be able to pass through. Imagine how useful it would be to cast spells _through_ walls. The pranking possibilities were endless! 

… Fred would only have to learn to perform said energy variation himself. 

He knew it was _possible_ tovary the energy output one put into spells. Although it was said to be something only skilled wizards or witches were able to do consciously after years of practising magic. Consequentially, there was little to find about regulating magic in the library, making it hard for Fred to learn anything about the art. 

So obviously, he would have to figure out the inner workings of the phenomenon on his own. 

He would need to conduct some kind of an experiment. Maybe _stun_ a couple of magical pests for reference… or he could begin with inanimate objects, he supposed (even if it would be less amusing). Papers, wood or perhaps clay? Oh! And he could get others to participate as well. Surely a couple of his fellow Gryffindors would enjoy some target practising. 

He was busy pondering the logistics of setting up his experiments when George slid into the chair abject to his. 

“What have you been up to?” Fred asked curiously. 

“You know, a bit of this and that. Entertained our hurt seeker until Ron and Hermione arrived, visited Peeves, went down to the kitchens for a snack. Also tried to talk to the portrait we found – but she ignored me entirely…” George trailed off and began to squint at something behind Fred’s shoulders. “Have you noticed that those two Slytherin girls are giving us – no, wait. Giving _you_ – the evil eye?” 

“Hmm?” 

Fred glanced behind him and understood what George meant. “Oh, those two? Yes, I am aware.” 

After waiting a moment when Fred did not elaborate George raced a brow. “ _And_?” 

“I believe they are friends of the fifth-year girl I accidentally threw into the air during Lockhart’s lesson last month,” he said with a small wave. “You know, Cedric’s batty cousin. I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s not like they’ve done anything.” 

“…Are you _absolutely_ certain? We played against the taller one in our second year and she was bloody insane. My bruises had bruises after that match.” George shivered in remembrance. “Never ben gladder for someone to get demoted to reserve,” he mumbled. 

Fred could do nothing but agree with that. 

“…They are a bit unnerving, just saying. Have you tried to make amends?” 

“Obviously,” Fred replied. “I apologized to Clarice Simmons, the Hufflepuff in question, shortly after the incident. I’ve been forgiven since showing the Hogwarts/Honey Dukes passage to her. It’s only her friends holding a grudge at this point. And it’s not even because of the almost killing their friend thing, but more due to me making the Hufflepuff pledge secrecy on the passage’s location,” he said, motioning towards the girls. Although as soon as they glanced his way Fred looked away with a small wince. In a lower voice he continued. “I am hoping they lose interest fast, though. It’s giving me the hives.” 

With the practised ease of a pair long used to irritated looks being turned their way the twins ignored the Slytherins, instead focusing on the project spread across the table. 

After some consideration Fred decided to bring Tom into the planning as well. While the diary-boy complained about Forge treating him as a portable library he nevertheless gave them lots of useful insight on the subject. 

Of course, the memory was flaunting the fact that his creator was able to infuse the _perfect_ amount of strength in all his spells. Although the way Tom was explaining the matter was extremely converted in Fred’s opinion. Surely _meditating_ was not the simplest way of learning magical output. Other than letting muscle memory do it for them when they reached thirty. Which would both be done instinctually and in way too much time to be of any use. The point was that Fred wanted to be able to regulate spell power intentionally, not have some unconscious reflexiveness do it for him. And he wanted it _now_. 

Which he could only do by meditating, if Tom was to be believed. 

This led to many disputes between Fred and Tom over the coming two weeks. Until George had enough of them bickering and simply asked Professor Flitwick for his opinion. Which had revealed that _Fred_ was right, and there was another way to do it. 

According to the Charms professor the easiest way to grow consciously aware of the power usage was by practising rudimentary spells for vastly different things. He recommended levitating feathers and heavy boulders alternately. 

Upon hearing this Tom ended up giving them the cold shoulder for a while, sulking in his lonesomeness. Luckily Fred and George had other things to occupy their minds. Like testing Professor Flitwick’s method out. 

It became apparent to both brothers fairly quickly that they used different amounts of magic for these spells, although trying to control this output was another thing entirely. It would take some practice no doubt (but no _meditating_ ). 

On another note, it turned out that there was a lot to learn from Fred’s experiments, even if a lot of it was things they had already known about – although had never considered consciously before. Most spells could penetrate different materials. Clothing had been expected, seeing as half the spells taught at school would have be useless otherwise. But some students, there amongst Harry, had even managed to penetrate certain kinds of stone. 

Now, if only Tom would stop sulking so they could consult him… 

Or maybe the sulking was a good thing. Having been absorbed by the new project both he and George were falling behind on the schoolwork front. At least this way they did not need to withstand Tom berating Forge for slacking off (…they still had not told Tom there was two of them. It was starting to get ridiculous! But how do you even bring something like that up after almost two months of conversation?). 

oooOOooo 

George did not know why he was surprised when Tom mentioned a borderline dark spell of the one late November evening. Much of the magics practised by the ancient mages were on the darker side of the magical spectrum, so it was not something new. And it was not like they were _truly_ bad. The majority were banned because of the horrifying repercussions they had when performed wrongly. 

…Or they were outlawed because of the sacrifices. But those were _fine_. Seriously. 

How was a painless sacrifice of a roaster worse than killing of a chicken to eat it? Furthermore, compared to some stuff they were practically benign. He had once read five pages of how to make someone’s hair strangle them in increasingly excruciating ways. _That_ was bad. 

Anyway, maybe the reason behind George’s surprise was that it was Tom himself that brought up the subject. In the beginning, when the memory was pretending to be some kind of goodhearted and non-threatening entity, Tom had been particular about ‘Forge’ never associating him with anything _forbidden_. Or, perish the thought, _evil_ . Which was why George was astounded by Tom _offering_ to teach him a temporary invisibility spell without any prompting (George would have to kill a worm and use its blood when drawing the runes. Real heavy stuff). 

George had accepted, obviously. 

He knew the Dark Arts were heavily addicting if rushed into or used too often, but George was a _responsible_ wizard capable of handling this _maturely_. George had been dabbling in the Dark Arts for years and was still perfectly sane. What more proof do you need? 

(Befriending the portraits in the dungeons had been a marvellous idea. Imagine how boring it would be conforming to the ministry-approved magics! George should really give his and Fred’s first-year selves some pats on the backs) 

oooOOooo 

George was running out of the castle doors, his cloak and Gryffindor scarf flaring out behind him. Which no doubt looked extremely impressive, except that it also let all the warmth out. He quickly pulled it tightly around his body to starve of the cold, adding a warming charm for good measure. That done he glanced around at his fellow wizards and witches. All the students form year three through seven taking Muggle Studies were filing out onto the grounds, leaving footprints in the snow behind them. 

To say that every single one of them were excited would be an understatement. Elated, George skipped down towards the school gates along with his classmates. He could not even begin to describe how much he had looked forward to this. They were going on a field trip to muggle Glasgow to visit the _theatre_ where they would watch a _movie_. After having discussed ‘things the muggle youth know about’ something that had come up often were the motion pictures. And now they were going to watch some for real. To be specific, some new movie called Aladdin. 

They caught a portkey outside the grounds and were transported to a deserted alleyway in central Glasgow, from where the Hogwarts students quickly made their way to their final destination. Upon arrival to the theatre most of them bought some ‘buttery popcorn’ and ‘fizzy drinks’ (you had better believe George had been saving up money for this occasion) and were thereafter ushered into the auditorium by a clerk. From the first notes of the music George was _enraptured_. Watching the animated figures’ stories is unlike anything he has experienced before. Sure, portraits and pictures move, but it was not the _same thing_. 

Carefully, so as not to bring attention to himself, George began to take notes. He knew that there were many cultures preferring flying carpets over brooms, so he saw no reason as to why he could not make one for himself once back at school. Or else George would make his own spells. He _would_ have that flying carpet, mark his words. 

But he could not focus overly much on the carpet (no matter how much he would have wanted too) because there were other ideas to gain from the movie. Fireworks, for example. That sounded like a feasible goal. 

When the film was over, they went to a supermarket called Tesco in order to brows the many utilities British muggles need to have in order to function. There was something called ‘instant coffee’, exotic produce George had never even heard of before and way too much _frozen_ food. And _everything_ was _packaged_. It was like an entirely different world. 

George and some of his classmates ended up in the candy aisle after a while, which was an experience. Unfortunately, he was unable to buy anything more than some tiny chocolate-bars, having used up the rest of his savings for the movie (the savings not going into the Joke Shoop saving account, that was. Or getting used up to buy materials for pranks… although a lot of those materials were… _borrowed_ , instead of bought. From Professors Sprout and Snape’s, as it was). 

When they eventually went back to Hogwarts in the afternoon George felt mightily pleased with the day. 

After regaling Fred and Lee of everything he had seen in the muggle world, the friends settled down on Fred’s bed to plan. Sadly, making magical fireworks turned out to be a lot more difficult than anticipated. Even with some help from Tom it would probably take them a year – _at least_ –to figure out the logistics of that one. Because while making fiery explosions in the sky was a simple feat, actually turning these explosions into shapes would take a lot more. Especially as Fred got it in his head that the fireworks would have to be able to _move_. Just _looking_ at the theoretical equation Fred had drawn out was making his head spin. 

But at least this gave George an opportunity to utilise muggle filing systems and book indexes for their Grimoire of Pranks. He had been working on that Charm for ages and would finally have use for it. Currently they had an entire section devoted to mobile fire, so that was something. 

This also led to spending _even more_ time in the library. Honestly, he and Fred were turning into _Ravenclaws_. 

…Which was at thought. If they were to declare themselves honorary bookworms, would they be granted access to the infamous Ravenclaw Library? There were a lot of tomes there that George would like to get his hands on (sadly being able to enter a common room was not the same thing as being able to take out books from it). 

The answer to the question of honorary access turned out to be an _emphatic no_. Apparently no one wanted them to get their hands on questionable works, which just, _rude_. They barely owned any controversial literary works (if only because all this knowledge came from ghosts, portraits and one particular black diary. Not that anyone was aware of that). 

But, like the absolute _genius_ that he was, George came up with something even better. After making some furtive inquires to Professor Lockhart (he went up to the man after class and plain asked him for what he wanted… but subterfuge sounds so much better – so that is what he is going with if anyone asks), he managed to needle the teacher into giving him and Fred a specially signed note for the Restricted Section. 

Take _that_ Ravenclaws! 

The books found in the Restricted Section turned out to be simply _wonderful_. There were _so many_ fascinating books! The twins might be forced to put some of their prank-plans on hold in order too clear up more reading time and discover all the secrets this new part of the library held. 

After some time, Fred found three books on Spell Crafting that he had since grown completely immersed in while George continued to browse hoping to find _the_ book. Which he did. 

‘Tom?’ George wrote later that night. ‘What do you know of emotion based magics? I found a book about it, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how this would be any different from normal intent.’ 

‘ _Well, hello to you to. No “how’s your day been so far, Tom?”. I see your manners are as atrocious as always._ ’ 

‘The spells?’ he wrote again, rolling his eye. One had to be fast if there was something to be discussed with Tom after all. Otherwise they would end up discussing something entirely different, going down some side note or another. Which was certainly interesting, but quite the inconvenience if there was something specific to work through. 

‘ _Why of course. I simply live to serve, don’t I._’ 

‘I am terribly sorry, Tom. Hello, and good evening. Emotion based magics… please?’ 

‘ _You are lucky I am in a benevolent mood tonight, Forge. Yes, of course I have heard about them. I am surprised you have, however. Delving deeper into the Dark Arts are we, Forge? _ ’ 

Well, that just confirmed his guesses then. Things were only kept in the restricted section if they were either dark, too difficult to perform for ordinary students or were made with the intent to cause catastrophic injuries. Or a mix of all three. 

‘ _Better be careful. We would not want your noble Gryffindorness contaminated by that foul magic, now would we?_ ’ 

George rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, that’s me alright. Righteousness and pureness incarnate. Couldn’t find a more law-abiding citizen if you tried.’ 

‘ _ Fine . You already know basic spellcasting, correct? Every spell requires intent to work. You need to visualize what you want, and you need the motivation to get it to happen. Simple _ ,” Tom began, and George settled in for what promised to be a long lecture, parchment at the ready for notetaking. Honestly, Tom calling himself a portable library was not that far off. 

‘ _Now, some spells need a little… extra to work. Feelings, to be precise. Feelings strengthens intent. Willing, for example, an amulet to protect your child is all well and good. But if you fill it with feelings of, say, devotion it will be much more powerful. Spells like the _ Patronus _are prime examples of this… of course, the same is true for the reverse. The darker spells using this technique are extremely potent and positively lethal in the wrong hands._ ’ 

‘ _Now, these emotionally based spells are a lot harder to master and often very volatile. But the pay-off is worth it, obviously. Not even blood-magic can hold a candle against a properly performed emotion-based spell… it is a true shame they fell out of practise. Simpleminded fools unable to master anything not granting instant gratification._ ’ 

There was a brief pause while Tom mourned the stupidity of the modern wizards and witches once again. He did that rather a lot. The diary-boy must be growing used to the sentiment, seeing as it barely took him a minute to get back to the conversation (monolog). 

‘ _How did you come across this book anyway?_ ’ 

George sighed and began to tell Tom about taking advantage of the somewhat gullible Professor Lockhart to get a pass to the Restricted Section. Time to settle in for a long night listening to Tom going on about the professor’s uselessness. There was no way Tom would be getting over the fact that a teacher gave young students a pass to the restricted section (…not because Tom would not do the same. He’d only be cleverer about it. At least if the rant was to be believed). 

oooOOooo 

Fred was walking back towards the dorms after spending yet another day browsing the Restricted Section. All was well, except that a pair of Slytherin girls had begun to stalk him through the castle halls, looking increasingly smug as the days wore on and Fred’s composure began to fray. He knew that Simmons the Hufflepuff’s two friends were plotting out ways to make him spill his secrets, so them looking happy was probably _not_ a good omen. Therefore, he would simply keep his distance, which would hopefully thwart their plan. 

He had tried to ask Simmons to curb her friends’ stalkerish tendencies (which was, just to mention, incredibly brave of Fred as he was still _somewhat_ terrified by those black patches the girl called eyes – how come a Hufflepuff was this creepy? Weren’t their eyes supposed to be made out of sunshine and rainbows?), but to no avail. Evasive manoeuvres it was. 

The first thing one must do when wishing to avoid meanspirited tagalongs was to find out anything that could be used as leverage. Or, you know, just basic facts about the person following him around. 

The names of his ever-present shadows were easy enough to find out; all it took was a quick glance at the _Map_. Other things… well. There were wonderful reasons behind his befriending portraits and ghosts alike, and with Lee being the gossip magnet that he was Fred learnt what he needed to survive easily enough. 

The tiny one was Elestren Parkinson. Small for a fifth year and looking a bit too much like a porcelain doll (the creepy evil ones, mind) for Fred to be entirely comfortable. And those icy eyes that was just _staring_ at him condescendingly. Not to mention that the _thing_ was extremely light on her feet. Morgana, but he wished he could put bells on her or something. The number of times he looked up only to find Parkinson less than ten feet away was _very alarming_. 

His second shadow was named Emily Rookwood. A black-haired girl that was almost the polar opposite of the other one, both taller and more muscular. This one he somewhat knew, if only by nearly being tackled off his broom during quidditch his second year by the (thankfully) former Chaser (now reserve – too many penalties Fred would wager). Now, Fred was not one to memorize nor care overly much about bloodlines, but those were good to look up when stalked so he had risen to the task! Only to find that Rookwood’s mother was from the Italian Zabini line. If he recalled correctly (which he obviously _did_ ), at least half of the Zabinis were _serial killers_. 

Which was just brilliant, wasn’t it? 

(How had he managed to alienate one of the scariest persons in the entire school and, even after apologising, still having to endure her equally scary friends following him around? _It was not fair_ ) 

Summarily, one could say Fred was not very happy at the moment. 

Fortunately, Fred was _very accomplished_ at that sneaking around business. With extensive use of hidden passages and the _Marauder’s Map_ he managed to avoid his pursuers until the middle of December. Which was the day that everything went pear shaped. 

It was on a snowing Friday when the person that sat down next to him in Arithmancy was _not_ Cedric, his usual partner for the class, but rather a smirking Snake. 

“Weasley. You wouldn’t mind if I sat here, would you?” she challenged with a sardonic twist of her mouth. 

“Parkinson.” So much for evasive manoeuvres. “Don’t you usually partner with Adrian Pucey? He is looking ever so lonely over there, all by himself,” Fred continued with a smile _just_ as friendly as hers. 

“Adrian is a big boy, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” 

Fred was trying to devise a plausible reason that would allow him to chase Parkinson away when Professor Vector entered and called everyone to attention. Surely, Fred would be fine? He just had too endured one hour. Next lesson he would simply make sure to arrive at the same time as his usual partner got to class and everything would be fine. 

It was not fine. 

Professor Vector walked to the front of the classroom and called them to attention. 

“These coming weeks we will be having a group project. You will be tasked with breaking down the equations behind the wand movement and incantation of your group’s chosen spell. You will have five spells to choose from,” she said, flicking her wand. Five names instantly began to be scribbled across the board. “You shall also find _at least_ three other spells that are either built up similarly to your selected spell or spells whose effects resemble those of your chosen one. No matter which avenue you decide to go down, remember that you will have to break them down to their parts just like the main spell. You have until mid-March.” 

The professor once again flicked her wand, sending out parchment with the finer instruction to all the students. “I suggest you begin as soon as possible – yes, I see your arm waving, there Mr Bradley. Do you have a question?” 

“How many to a group will there be Professor, and do we get to select those partners ourselves?” 

“Two to a group, Mr Bradley. Consisting of the person sitting next to you.” 

Well… at least Fred knew why the two terrors had been looking so smug lately. He could think of many ways partnering up with him would aid their pursuit of… _something_. Whatever it was they wanted to achieve. Perhaps to insert comments to make him slip up and thus divulge the secret of the passageway he had shown Simmons? Being in close proximity would also make it easier to follow him as well as shift through his things. There were many possibilities, especially as he did not know exactly _why_ they were after him (and poor George on occasion, when they got the wrong twin). 

He slowly turned to eye Parkinson, whose eyes were dancing with amusement. Taking a deep breath to centre himself, Fred began to psyche himself up. It was not like this was the end of the world. Fred was a mature and reasonable young wizard. Working with someone he did not particularly like for a project was well within his wide array of prodigious abilities. “What spell would you like to focus on? I myself find the healing one quite compelling.” 

“ _Episkey_? I suppose.” Parkinson studied him for a bit, before continuing more seriously. “I do want a good grade in this class, you know. I will not let our animosity get in the way of our work and sabotage this project. Therefore, I propose a truce. For the remainder of this project, at least?” 

“Sure…” He did not know what angle she was working. After some inner debate he decided to treat this like any other project and just go with it. After dealing with Tom for months one learned to adapt. 

The two newly minted partners arranged to meet twice a week and then began to work out exactly what each person should concentrate on and divide up task between them. 

It did not go smoothly, but it did go forward, so there was that. Still, Fred found himself lamenting the unfairness of his current circumstances. 

Why did the fifth year have to switch into their class last year, anyway? No one wanted to take lessons with kids younger than themselves voluntarily. Surely Divination could not have been _that_ bad? 

Before exiting the classroom once the lesson was over Parkinson gave him a sneer masquerading as a smile. “We _will_ find out what you did to garner Clarice’s favour, do not doubt that.” With her piece said, she sauntered out of the room on soundless feet. 

At least they might cut down on the stalking. A bloke could always hope. 

oooOOooo 

Ever since being created Tom had been _unbearably_ _bored_. From the notes left by the original soul, he should have been slumbering, merely a faded echo made up of memories. Those notes were true and utter shite. 

Tom was _very much_ capable of rational thoughts and fully aware of the passing of time. 

However, the monotony that made up his existence was not his greatest problem. No, the thing that made it truly insufferable was the sheer isolation he had to endure. 

Which was preposterous! 

For the longest time his biggest wish had been to finally gain some breathing room. He had wanted the idiots inhabiting the orphanage to go away and the sycophantic students to leave him alone and all the Pure Blood bigots who dared to look down on him to _burn_. He wanted them to hurt and suffer and _fucking perish in outmost agony_. 

Yes, Tom wanted to be left to his own devise and simply exist. 

And look at him now. Seeking _company_. 

It was _outrageous_. 

But the worst thing of all? Having all this time on his hand Tom had started to question his existence (having an existential crisis without any medium whatsoever to express it with had been what muggles called hell). 

Because what was a horcrux, really? It certainly was not a person. 

No body, no brain, no _memories_. 

At least not memories from before he gained consciousness. As a Mordred damned book. 

Well, Tom supposed he did have memories from _before_ , at least of a sort. He had concluded that he, the diary, was somewhat similar to ghosts. As in, he did have imprints of memories, but only those that the creator had felt held genuine importance or were caused by traumatic experience (perfect recollection of all the times London had been bombed and the terror of thinking your next breath might be your last. Joy). At least the creator had an eidetic memory, thus a lot of reading or studding done by the original transferred to him. Although, even reading through most material in these shade memories got dull after a while. At least he had enough memories and written thoughts to form some kind of personality. 

Or maybe that had been a curse. Hard to say. 

There were also the words written down in the book before it got turned into a horcrux, i.e. got turned into _him_. 

Thus, he had gone through every single word written down by one Tom Marvolo Riddle. Had studied them until the words became his own. Every single thing that had been written in the book by his creator, he now knew by heart (advantages of having one’s memories made up by magic. Perfect recollection. Of loneliness and nothingness. Advantage, right?). Tom knew his name, was aware that the whole student body of Hogwarts had been made up of senseless sheep and had a perfect grasp of many obscure spells. 

Now, when one composes a diary, what does a person normally pen down? What the weather is like? What they ate for breakfast? How about the ordinary thoughts one has in passing? No, of course not. 

The writer scribbles down utter tosh is what they do. Page long tirades about how much the original absolutely despised pickled _anything_ and thousands of words of how incredible the Unforgivable Curses were (twelve-year-old Tom was _very_ _happy_ when he discovered those). 

Thus, Tom’s personality came to consist of what one might call _extremes_. He was pretty sure all of this ended up giving him some kind of complex… 

Which brought him to the icing on the cake. 

Tom was rather sure he had been driven insane. 

Isolation had a tendency to do that to a person… soul piece… whatever. 

But at least seclusion had given him time to think. 

Because after spending all his time pondering, he had deduced many things. Things that made up parts of his own crazy psyche. Chief amongst them being that making a horcruxes frayed the soul and thus drove them off one’s rocker. Not that the original had been particularly sane either way but cutting up his soul certainly had not helped the issue. Combine this with said loneliness and extreme personality traits and Tom-The-Diary had been domed to go barmy from the very beginning. 

Until finally, _finally_ , someone opened the diary (It took fifty years. _Fifty_!). Now he had someone to talk to. 

That this someone turned out to be an equally deranged Gryffindor did not matter. Because, once again, _talking_ (conversing, vocalising, communicating, speaking … he could go on, you know). 

Tom was perfectly unassuming in the beginning. Acted like a true gentleman. He really did…or well, he had planned to! 

He would have, had this infuriating Lion not been so… infuriating (it would have been so much easier if it had been some menace writing about their petty problems or non-existent love life. But it hadn’t been). Whoever had found the book just closed it! Tom was later beyond surprised when he felt some of the spells originally cast upon the diary disperse. And then the person had the audacity to ask if he was still there. Where else would he be? Tom had only been stuck in this prison for half a decade! 

…So _maybe_ he had not ended up acting entirely normal, or smooth, or enticing. 

But Tom found it incredibly hard to stop once he got the chance to talk to someone for the first time, well, _ever_. So, he might have rambled. A little bit. 

It was not like Forge (the _name_. Merlin, but who thought that was a good idea? If one wanted to choose a fake name, the least one could do was to make it _authentic_ ) had complained. 

It got easier after a while, to talk normally, act normally. 

Furthermore, he could feel himself growing stronger with every word written down in the diary by the boy. Not a lot, mind you, because Forge (he was just going to roll with it) did not talk about things that were important enough to him for large soul fragments to transfer – but they did transfer. 

Even small bits were enough to begin to restore his sanity. Or well, _reducing his insanity_. 

And as Forge’s trust in him grew, so did the magnitude of the things Tom was told. 

Not that he minded the other conversations overly much. It was somewhat… pleasing, to discuss magical theory and thinking up ways to alter or even create new spells with another person. Talking about all the imbeciles wandering about. Just listening (or you know, _reading_ ) to the recount of ridiculous anecdotes and stories was enough to make him laugh – while also mourning over the stupidity of the current state of wizard kind (but to be fair, magical people were quite stupid during the time of his spotty memories as well). 

So what if he was enjoying himself, sue him. 

When November rolled around, he had finally gained enough soul that he might be able to send some of himself back – to possess the holder of the diary. 

Not that he could see himself doing that in the near future. Forge was not stupid (well, _he was_. But another kind of stupidity). If blanks suddenly started to appear in his memory Tom held no doubt that this could lead to dire consequences for himself. Tom would be found out. Maybe even destroyed… somehow. The boy was surprisingly clever (surprising because of the already mentioned stupidity. How could someone be so _intelligent_ and so _utterly daft_ at the same time?). 

Moreover, possession required a vast amount of energy. Tom would much rather horde the little power he had gathered instead of wasting it on some foolish plan devised fifty years ago by someone who left Tom in his diary prison to _rot_ (Was Tom holding a grudge? Yes. Yes, he was). He would hold of. 

_For now_ . 

If he had learned something from his stint of undesired confinement it was how to bide his time. Everything came for those who waited, as long as they were ready to act when the opportune moments presented themselves. 

Besides, Tom was not going to risk revealing the Chamber of Secrets to Forge – which he would no doubt end up doing by utilising possession when not at his strongest. The Chamber was the most wonderful thing in the castle, and under no circumstances was he ever mentioning it to the menace currently in possession of his soul’s vessel. 

Tom did not even want to entertain the thought of bringing him down there before he was at his strongest. Merlin knew whet the mad Gryffindor might do if he got access to the Chamber. Tom _was not risking it_. 

So, he had his reasons for not possessing Forge. 

In the meantime, he would simply settle for filching away parts of the boy’s soul. 

Which had turned out to be surprisingly simple. Forge’s soul was whole – meaning that it could easily repair itself. Especially if it was only tiny flecks being taken occasionally. Tom only had to sit tight a couple of months, absorb some soul, and he would probably have enough magic to free himself. No permanent harm would befall his frien- associate. _Associate_. 

(Growing _fond_ of someone was appalling – and Tom had no idea why it was _happening_ ) 

oooOOooo 

So… 

Tom discovered that absorbing another person’s soul was not _quite_ as simple as he had theorised. 

How had he come to this conclusion? It was fairly simple: 

Tom had always been something of a trickster. He liked messing with people (a secret that he would be taking to his grave – if he was ever planning on dying, that was. Although his ultimate demise did not appear as daunting as it once had. Having spent fifty years in total isolation tended to put these kinds of things into perspective). But never once in his _entire existence_ had he ever wanted to _prank_ somebody. 

Being somewhat snarky – sure. Tormenting his enemies until they cried – sign him up. But devise a joke to make others laugh – _never_. Not on your life – and absolutely not _his_. 

Yet here he was. 

Planning a _prank_. 

Apparently, personality bleeds over when absorbing parts of another’s soul. 

Which, yes. Perhaps he should have noticed that something was seriously wrong the moment he started appreciating other people. Not to mention the other thing starting to pop up. Was that _empathy_? 

What if he suddenly began to like Lockwood’s lessons? Or got that odd fascination with Muggle Studies. What if he turned into some dim-witted fool whose best try at making up a fake name was _Forge_? 

Or, Salazar forbid, what if he suddenly started to adore _quidditch_? It was unthinkable! 

If half his personality became some bastardized version of Forge’s, he would throw himself of the west tower… figurately. In his mind space. 

…Tom helped to design an array for one of Forge’s pranks (this meant _nothing_ ). 


	3. Chapter 3

In early December a note advertising the first meeting of the so called ‘Duelling Club’ appeared on the notice board of the Gryffindor common rom. Predictably, both George and Fred signed up immediately. 

George felt really excited about this new club, at least until Lee told him and Fred that it would be held by none other than Professor Lockhart who, while being both brothers’ favourite professor, was quite useless when it came to actual spellcasting. Thus, George found it highly unlikely that anyone would actually learn any form of proper duelling during these meetings. 

Not to say that he expected it to be boring. Anything arranged by the Great Professor would doubtlessly be entertaining. So, obviously he would attend. Maybe not with any hopes of learning how to duel, but certainly for the chance of watching everything descend into chaos. 

Still, George would like to know the basic duelling forms and etiquette now that his interest had been piqued. With the odds of this occurring during the actual duelling club meeting being next to nil he decided to get his answers from a different source. 

George decided to ask Tom (the portable library extraordinaire). 

The common room was somewhat crowded, so George dragged an armchair over to the corner occupied by the least amount of people and settled down. He could have gone to converse with Tom somewhere else, but as the mere knowledge of being surrounded by the ‘brainless lions’ always got on Tom’s nerves George felt quite partial to spending his time around people when writing. ‘Hello. How are you Today Tom?’ 

‘ _Wow. Forge actually bothering with manners. Impressive. Well, I have been bored out of my mind, thanks for asking._ ’ 

George winced slightly. After ‘Forge’ had been forgiven for the magical energy-output debacle both twins had gone right back to conversing with Tom every day. Except for the last four days, that is. Both he and Fred had been busy, leaving them no time to sit down with the diary. Well, George might as well abandon the thought of asking about duelling today, then. _Someone_ was in a mood. 

Instead, George talked about interesting things that had happened in the castle, filling the diary in on what had transpired since the last time they spoke (wrote – whatever). While not what George had wanted, it was no less enjoyable. Until Tom brought up _math_. 

‘ _Oh, by the way. That equation you talked about, the one where you tried to incorporate muggle physics. It might actually work. If you add this…_

George reached for some parchment in his bag, trying to pen down everything Tom wrote, scowling all the while. 

Dear Merlin, be he could not even remember how many times he had had to do this by now. Ever since Fred started to look into spell-strength and their ability to penetrate certain objects George had been forced to copy Tom’s input on the subject and then relay it to Fred. George understanding of arithmancy was extremely limited and his knowledge of muggle physics was even smaller. 

Which was fine, except that Tom and Fred wanted to discuss it _all the time_.Naturally, it bled through to George’s conversations with the diary as well, since – you know, they had yet to tell Tom that Forge was actually Fred and George. Which really, they should get on that, because the entire farce was getting ridiculous at this point. 

Especially since it obliged him to spend his evening writing down pages upon pages of numbers and squiggles that Fred kept insisting had some kind of meaning. Morgana, but George was _so done_ with the math. 

oooOOooo 

On the 17th of December, the day of the first duelling club meeting, George finally found the time to introduce Lee to the elusive portrait of the woman with hair worse than a Potter’s. As she still saw fit to ignore both him and Fred it was time to invoke their secret weapon. If Lee’s lovable manner did not reach her heart, then nothing would. Then it might truly be time to call it quits. 

Lee appeared somewhat bemused by the ordeal but did not complain, being used to his friends’ dragging him along too parts unknown in order to introduce him to…well, whatever had caught their fancy that week. 

George thought that a portrait was rather tame, all thigs considered. After all, there was a talking diary in his trunk that seemed awfully interested in torture. 

“So, where is Fred?” Lee asked conversationally while they walked down a passage. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since breakfast.” 

“In some abandoned classroom working on his group project.” 

“I thought you were going to accompany him to those. Didn’t he beg you not to leave him alone with the ‘Evil Doll’?” 

“Oh yes. I went earlier today, and I am not going back – ever. As soon as they got into the technical aspect of whatever they’re doing they launched into screaming match. Pince ended up throwing them out of the library and everything. They are band from entering again for a month,” George commented drily. 

“Oh dear.” 

“I am not going within twelve feet of any room occupied by that pair ever again if I have my say,” George declared as they arrived at their destination. 

Both boys gazed into the nook housing the unnamed portrait, before George took a step back, content with watching Lee work his magic. After scarcely ten minutes Lee was holding an amiable conversation with the woman, asking how she liked the castle, what books in the painting she enjoyed the most, when she was painted etc. 

By listening in on their conversation George finally managed to learn the name of the portrait. One Madam Atria Black. 

Who turned out to be very good at telling stories. Apparently, she ran away to America at fifteen and ended up joining a group of werewolf outlaws (after first getting in a fight with said werewolves, almost being clawed to death and permanently disfiguring a third of their troupe). 

George felt genuinely dejected when he and Lee had to go in order to attend the club meeting. Madam Black was just getting into telling them of her twenties and had begun to describe the rise of Avarice the Wicked, the half French-half Native American witch that managed to rule a third of North America for over five decades. He (and Lee, if he was to get a word from the portrait) would have to come back another time. 

The boys had to run to arrive at the Great Hall in a somewhat timely manner. They entered only to be met by the sight of Professor Lockhart being thrown across the room by a smirking Snape. 

“What’d we miss?” a panting Lee asked once they had pushed their way over to where Fred was stood leaning against a wall. 

“They went over the disarming charm, but you both know that one already, so no great loss.” 

After Professor Lockhart picked himself up from the ground, they were asked to pair up for duels. “Want to rope some people into a free-for-all-no-rules-apply duel?” George asked, grinning madly. 

Half a minute later most of the Gryffindor upper years were locked in a battle royal, spells flying left and right. Professor Snape was observing the mayhem with a detach gaze, while Lockhart was dodging stray spells wildly. Only when Lockhart seemed to be on the verge of heart failure did Snape put a stop to the wild casting. 

In what was no doubt a try to bring the gathering to order it was proposed that two students should give an example. 

George watched bemusedly as Harry and the baby Malfoy were asked to get up on the duelling platform. Why they did not ask some of the seventh years to show people how to duel properly was unclear. But then again, both Snape and Lockhart were far from rational on a good day, so... 

The fight would probably be somewhat dull, what with it being held between two second years who had barely begun their studies in magic, but one never knew. There was a lot of creative things that could be accomplished utilising simple spells (George and Fred would know, as both of them could be downright _scary_ when it came to repurposing spells – in their own humble opinions). 

George thought his predictions of dullness to be true, as the fight between the kiddies was just that – dull. Until it wasn’t. Suddenly, the entire hall froze when Malfoy conjured a four feet long, black snake. A snake that appeared very agitated. When Lockhart then incanted a _very familiar spell_ –one that had caused many fourth years trouble (none more than Fred, it should be mentioned) a couple of months ago – thing worsened further. As the venomous snake was thrown up into the air, hissing and spitting, the assembled students all threw themselves out of the way while screams filled the Hall. 

And their pseudo little brother was outed as a Parselmouth. 

George watched on as Harry calmed the snake (he _thought_ it was a red-bellied black snake, but then again, George was no master when it came to the different species of serpents. Especially not Australian ones) before the boy sat down in the middle of the room and scoped the _highly venomous_ snake into his lap and started to straight up croon and pet its scales. Who even knew one could crone in Parseltongue? 

Which was, of course, when Snape saw fit to announce that he would ‘dispose’ of the animal. George attributed the following sequent of events to the professor’s harsh words; as soon as Snape cast a Banishment Spell Harry hissed harshly in the snake’s direction, that thus dodged said spell and slithered into the crowd of students. Who – surprise, surprise – began to screech. This was followed by more screaming coming from the corridors, leaving the Great Hall in total silence once more. That was; until a Hufflepuff started screaming bloody murder. 

Apparently, Harry was the newest Dark Lord in the making. 

(No one did ever find the snake) 

oooOOooo 

With all the commotion following the duelling club’s first (and only) meeting, it was no wonder that one of the twins slipped up. 

‘ _I know you are scatter brained Forge, but this is a bit much even for you. I have mentioned this ritual four times today. Surely not even you can manage to forget that. _ ’ 

Fred tried to come up with a good answer to that but fell grievously short. 

Five minutes later Tom was cussing both him and Fred out (as he had demandedGeorge’s presence). Which, valid. Fred himself had thought that four months of deception was a bit extreme. 

‘ _Fuckwitted, imbecilic bastards – both of you! I cannot believe you two boneheads deluded yourself into thinking that this was a good idea. I swear to Morgana, if you pull anything like this again, I will show you the true meaning of…_ ’ 

…And on it went. 

At least he and George could add some new profanities to their list of interesting statements uttered by Tom.Fred felt particularly fond of the thought of referring to someone as the _progeny of a_ _bowl-eyed pufferfish_ (he even encircled it with little hearts). 

Positive thinking! There would be no more discussions of the different models of German versus British aircrafts during the muggle’s Second World War. Seriously. While Fred could appreciate both his twin and father’s obsession with anything muggle that did not mean he wanted to spend hours upon _hours_ talking about it. 

All the while this was going on, rumours about Harry Potter being the spawn of evil, destined to take over where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named left of, continued to circle around the castle. Said rumours were becoming more and more outrageous as the time went on (but, surely, no one _actually_ believed Harry to be You-Know-Who’s secret lovechild. _Surely_ ). It was all very entertaining, in Fred’s opinion, except that the little Seeker got upset by the situation. 

To make it better, Fred and George and Lee boxed in the “Golden Trio” between them and did their best to distract the twelve-year olds from the angry mutterings that surrounded them. 

Fred and George _were_ going to ignore the tense atmosphere saturating the corridors... but honestly, the twins could not help themselves. It was simply to good an opportunity to waste. 

Thus, Fred added hoods to their uniforms while George made dozens of portable smokescreens. Two of those would then be implemented in the hoods to obscure their faces and while others were to be put on their shoes, which would surround their persons with mist, giving them a mysterious and ominous appearance. 

After donning their new getup, Fred and his brother set of too follow Harry around the school. 

After a muttered _Sonorus_ both of them were ready to go. 

“All make way for his Dark Lordliness!” 

“Seriously evil wizard coming through!” 

“Out of the way, cattle! You are obscuring our venerated Lord’s path!” 

Sadly, they were politely informed to stop by Professor Flitwick (and not so politely by Professor McGonagall) three days into their masterful performance (See, Tom? The Great Professor Lockhart’s lessons were good for some things). Allegedly, they were ‘distressing the students’. 

Thus, the twins had to make do with stalking sinisterly in front of the second year and bowing when they passed the boy in the hallway. Honestly, they were not even allowed the use of amplifying charms, not that that setback stopped them from announcing _their Lord’s_ presence. 

At the very least this managed to lift Harry’s mood, as he always seemed lighter after their little shows. Because of this Fred could see no reason to cease their actions. 

oooOOooo 

In the days leading up to Christmas break, George spent way too much time hiding from his twin brother. 

Fred was studiously working on his assignment with Parkinson situated in the abandoned classroom they had commandeered after being banned from the library. Both of the menaces, a.k.a. Fred and Parkinson, kept on trying to persuade their respective friends to act as buffers. In the end, not even Lee could stand to supervise more than three sessions before turning tale and running away. 

Drastic measures had to be taken. 

At first it was everyone for themselves; Gryffindors, Slytherins, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws all fleeing from the terrible duo. When this turned out to be an ineffective method (Fred would swipe the _Marauder’s Map_ if George was not careful – Parkinson was equally efficient when it came to finding her friends) they had no other choice but to cooperate. 

Whit George and Rookwood and Lee _and_ Simmons all working together they were at last able to escape the meetings held between their friends. 

This group expanded further when both Fred and Parkinson had to resort to begging various other members from the quidditch teams for help. Thus, a somewhat shaky alliance between the Lions and Snakes came to fruition. For the first time in decades the Slytherin and Gryffindor teams actually worked together. This was nothing short of a miracle. 

Now, the question was how to keep the arrangement going until March. 

The combined intellect of the students was getting them by for now. However, they would have to come up with something better come spring term if they wanted to keep their hearing intact. 

At least Parkinson would go home over break, separating the two. The school might finally have some peace and quiet. 

oooOOooo 

All five Weasley children still attending Hogwarts opted for staying at the school during their break while their parents went off to visit Bill in Egypt. 

It was rather lovely, spending most meals together with their family talking and laughing with no classes. No classes also meant that both Fred and George could spend the majority of their time researching. 

While they had come to a standstill in the fireworks department there were many other avenues of exploration capable of filling up their time. Fred’s experiments on spell penetrability were going splendidly, for example. It had been a true marvel to stun Percy through an armchair in the common, after getting that particular trick down. 

Furthermore, when the Headmaster spent a day off school grounds, he and George sneaked into his office (after twenty minutes whispering the names of random candy brands into the guarding Gargoyle’s ear). Being the notorious pranksters that they were, it was high time to take a peek. Without anyone nearby, that was. Being notorious pranksters also meant that one spent an inordinate amount of time in the headmaster’s office. Anyway. Having the room to themselves the twins were finally able to take a closer look at the Sorting Hat. Maybe this would eb the clue they needed to solve the riddle that was, well, Tom Riddle. 

After casting enough diagnostic charms to make himself woozy as well as a short conversation between the hat and George, the brothers had to admit defeat. Tom was something, all right, but not anything like the Sorting Hat. That they could conclude from their tests. 

Fred and George would have to look for answers elsewhere. 

oooOOooo 

George found that looking up Arabic spells for making carpets fly in Scotland was not an easy task. It was slow progress. 

He also had to endure his twin working on his Arithmancy assignment via owl communication with Parkinson. Every morning, there would be an owl bearing a red envelope sweeping down toward Fred that had long since shattered any of George’s hopes for a calm Christmas. 

With horrified fascination, George found himself once again listening to the resounding diatribe of Elestren Parkinson (along with all other members in the Hall with functioning ears). George sank down under the table to get away from the furious shouting while Fred was penning down a letter, no doubt carrying his brother’s incensed reply. There would be no escape for George’s poor ears, it would seem. 

Honestly, why be so upset over a disagreement on _mathematics_? Ugh. 

Thus, George suffered through several meals trying to pretend that his brother was not having a long-distance screaming match with a fellow classmate. 

This got significantly easier after he stole a pair of earmuffs from the greenhouses. 

Then there was Tom. He had yet to forgive the twins for having been deceived and was doing his very best to get back at them in his own obstinate way. After using a spell to enhance hearing on Tom’s recommendation both he and Fred ended up sprouting ears the sizes of melons for two days (which did not help with enduring the after mentioned screaming match). Following that particular incident, both twins were leery of utilizing anything Tom recommended until the diary calmed down. 

oooOOooo 

On Christmas morning George was met by a surprise. 

He and Fred received their expected ‘Weasley Sweaters’ (named so by none other than Harry) as well as an assortment of candy and trinkets from their friends. 

However, at the end of Fred’s bed a big parcel from an unknown address was situated. Although the owl waiting next to said parcel was quite telling on the matter of its sender (how it managed to get into the Gryffindor common room was another story entirely). “I did not know you and Parkinson were close enough to exchange gifts?” George noted bemusedly. 

While reaching for the present Fred answered absentmindedly. “We’re _really_ not.” 

He then proceeded to cast no fewer than fifteen detection charms, before finally beginning to peel off the paper. George snuck over to his brother’s bed, peering over his shoulder. What met the twins upon its opening was nothing less than a stack of eight books. 

George snatched them out of a startled Fred’s hands and began to shuffle through them, reading the titles aloud. “ _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Grimm’s Fairy tales_ , _Frankenstein_ , _Lovecraft’s Short Stories…_ Are these muggle novels? Why ever would a pureblood Slytherin – one that can barely stand you on her best days – send you these? And why,” he wondered, holding up three other books, “would she send you history books? You loathe history… Well, at least those are more in line with what I would expect of a Christmas gift from that girl. Maybe she sent the others by mistake.” 

Fred passed him a note that had fallen out on his bed. After reading it George started to laugh. “What? ‘I have graciously bestowed these gifts upon your person so that they may further your goal of spreading mayhem and chaos’.” He continued to read, before pausing at the post scriptum. “Wait. Does she want us to enchant her books to sing like we did in the library? Where those other books some sort of a bribe, then?”. 

“I think so,” Fred replied, scowling at the books now spread across his bed. “I have given up on trying to understand the Harpy’s mind. Although I think her extended family is coming for a visit. This could be her way of asking for an intermission in our little howler dispute.” 

“Or she might genuinely want the singing books, you never know,” George pointed out. 

“We are better off just rolling with it. She would not give us a straight answer if we asked. Believe me, I tried.” 

That was a very mature outlook. Coming from the person that spent yesterday raving about the girl, anyway. At least it was an improvement from cursing the very earth the Parkinson walked on to swallow her whole. 

And compared to that first month when Fred would tremble in honest to Merlin fear. 

“I did not!” 

Oh, did George say that out loud? Whoops. 

Instead of replying, George decided to take a closer look at the books. Fred was not that much of a reader, meaning George could swipe those that looked interesting for himself. 

Still, he knew what kind of novels Fred enjoyed so he might as well see if any of the gifted ones would appeal to his brother while he was at it. After reading through the synopsises and thumbing through the first pages of a couple of books, George shucked the one about motorway building aliens at his twin. Fred might like the others as well, but George was of the opinion that _he_ would appreciate them more and set them aside for himself. At least for the moment. It is not like Fred would mind. 

Case in point; said brother was currently busy brooding over one of the notes, grumbling about bothersome Slytherins and paying no mind to the incredible gift he had received. At least George would appreciate them. 

George had gotten to the second chapter of his chosen book when Fred suddenly jumped off the bed and ran to the door. “Could you take care of the history books like she asked? And do them in a Hagrid-styled voice, American rap format, if you please!” 

“Wait –” George began to object but was cut off by a “be back in an hour!” from the staircase. 

Leaving George was confused and alone in the dorm room. 

Three hours later George was startled out of his reading by Fred entering the dorm again. 

He could not help but blanche at the absolutely garish neon green choker (the colour might even dismay Headmaster Dumbledore) with a tiny bell attached to its front that Fred cradled in his palms. 

For his own peace of mind, George would be ignoring the existence of that particular piece of… jewellery. 

Therefore, he motioned to the small pile of now charmed history books at his bedside before he went back to Fred’s – his – book. 

From the corner of his eyes he saw Fred pen down a quick note before stuffing said note into the box that had delivered Parkinson’s gifts, together with the neckless (now resting in a transfigured box. Fred better not have used anything valuable for that – _or_ _else_ ) and the history books George had spent the better part of one-hour casting spells at. He then sent it off with the still waiting owl (now sitting on a perch conjured by George sipping water). 

oooOOooo 

Tom’s obsession with one-upping Professor Lockhart was getting a bit nonsensical, if Fred was to be honest. Before now the diary had been somewhat content with complaining about the adult’s shortcomings to an audience made up of Fred, George and on occasion Lee. 

Apparently, that was no longer enough. The former Slytherin now wanted the professor to _know_ of his hate. 

With Tom’s only channel of communication consisting of yours truly, the diary had begun to nag him to act as a go-between (because George just so happened to make himself scares when the subject came up. Traitor). 

That was how he found himself caving in and adhering to Tom’s demands one late January evening. He might have just ignored Tom, if not for the fact that he (and George – _get back here_ ) somewhat felt he owed the diary one. (Fred summoned his twin’s cloak, thus dragging the traitorous traitor back. If Fred had to suffer his twin could very well suffer with him). Both he and George had, after all, been deceiving the other boy for months. Doing him one small favour was only right. 

Consequentially, the twins had found themselves agreeing to write and send The Great Professor a letter containing all of Tom’s words in their glorious and unedited animosity. 

They should have known better. 

He and George spent many days writing out a six feet long hate letter addressed to the scarily incompetent person strutting around pretending to be a teacher. With throbbing fingers, they later snuck up to the owlery to send said letter in the middle of the night. 

The next day one of the school owls flew down towards the Hight Table and dropped off its cargo on the table in front of Professor Lockhart. 

Fred watched as the professor opened the post. Lockhart’s face slowly began to colour as he read the script, until he finally crumpled the letter up and angrily threw it away from himself. 

Of course, both Tom and the twins had foreseen that happening and had taken preventative measures. In seconds of being thrown the parchment straightened itself out and rose into the air, hovering over the teacher’s shoulder. And there it stayed for almost a month, following the wizard around and randomly reciting the most humiliating parts written in Lockhart’s own voice. 

As the days wore on the inhabitants of the castle got to observe Lockhart as he got more and more inventive in his approach to destroying the paper still trailing after him. The wizard tried to flush it down the toilet, set it on fire, pour various beverages on it and even had it stuffed into his closet, but to no avail. 

Fred felt a tad bad about having taken part in making their favourite Professor cry off frustration. Just a tad. 

Otherwise, Fred was very happy about the start of term. 

Homework had yet to pile up, he had lots of experiments to try out with George and people had finally begun to calm down on the Harry-Potter-is-the-new-Dark-Lord front. 

So, all was well. 

Until he felt someone literally _jump_ onto his back from behind after quidditch practise, making him fall flat on his face. Fred groaned while turning around, a glare already secured in place. This glare only hardened when he noticed who the offender was. 

And it should not be possible! 

She was _wearing the necklace_! The horrid thing had a _bell_ , for Merlin’s sake. One he made especially so that these kinds of situations would _stop happening_. So why was it not working? It had been warded against all manners of silencing charms; runes etched into the metal itself. Fred should have heard the Harpy approach, but _no_. She was as silent as ever. And he had held such high hopes... 

Fred felt peeved. He had not even managed to make her cross with him for gifting such a hideous thing during Christmas, as she had transfigured the green velvet strip into black leather. The people who should be alarmed by the choker’s appearance now commented on how nice it looked. Instead _Fred_ was the one receiving weird looks. It was unfair, was what it was! 

So, there he lay, flat on his stomach with a cackling Slytherin sauntering away towards the castle. “Why does she keep doing this?” he groaned out miserably. “I even prodded the bell once, you know. It still perfectly functioning! That _thing_ just walks around with it anyway, not making a sound! How? How is that possible?!” 

George just patted him on the back while the confused Gryffindor team gathered around them. 

“Think positive thoughts, brother dearest.” 

“Like what,” Fred said surly. 

“Like… well, I’m sure I’ll think of something. Just give me a minute.” 

Fred groaned again at his twin’s _comforting_ words. “But I caved! I told Parkinson how to find the passage, said I would do whatever she deemed necessary to earn forgiveness or whatever for endangering her friend.” He grabbed George’s arm, looking into his eyes imploringly. “So why is she still _here_?” 

“Because you’re working on a project together? Well, maybe she likes torturing you,” George mused, not showing an ounce of the severity the statement deserved. No, his dratted brother was smiling, no doubt enjoying the idea of Fred suffering. 

Fred howled in despair and misery, head still lying in the snow resulting in some spluttering that was not undignified in any way, shape or form, thank you very much. George hauled him onto his knees, patting his back to help with the cough. 

Once Fred finally got his breath back Harry raised his hand uncertainly. “What was that?” 

George gave a solemn shake of his head. “Take heed, young’un, for _that_ was a perfect example of what happens when you manage to sufficiently rile up a female. Women are scary like that. They have a taste for suffering.” 

After this statement of wisdom George was assaulted by three Chasers and ended up joining Fred on the ground. 

Fred slowly inched away from the wrestling match between Alicia Spinnet and the shrieking George, not wishing to get even more covered in snow than he already was. 

After Alicia had tormented George to her hearts content (and when the cold started to feel uncomfortable) the team trudged back inside the warm halls of the school. 

When they walked up the stairs towards the seventh floor, everyone once again warm and cosy thanks to a warming charm cast by Wood, Harry suddenly froze. The Seeker turned towards one of the more isolated corridors. 

“Did you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” 

“The voice,” Harry said, gesturing towards the hallway. “It’s coming from there… guys, it’s starting to sound distressed, maybe we should see if we can help?” 

Wood was beginning to look concerned at this point (probably afraid his Star Seeker had taken one too many Bludgers to the head during practice – hearing voices and all), a sentiment shared between the other players. Nonetheless, they all dutifully trailed after the second year when he took them down another corridor at a brisk pace (sadly leading them _away_ from the common room). “I think it came from here…” Harry trailed off as the Gryffindors were met by the sight of two young Ravenclaw girls sitting stock-still on the stone floor. By all appearances it was looking as if they were applying makeup, staring into the hand mirror held before them. Nothing weird about that, except that they were, as said, not moving. Like, at all. 

Fred went up to the girls and waved his hand in front of their eyes, but got no reaction. After a moment of nothing he poked the taller one in the face. And again. And again. 

“Stop that, Weasley,” Angelina Johnson hissed, snatching up his hand with an exasperated sigh. When Katie Bell creeped towards the girls, no doubt about to do the same thing, Angelina snatched har hand too, sighing. “Not you to! How old are you – five? _Stop_ trying to poke them. _Oh, for Merlin’s sake_ – _George_!” When it appeared as if George might try as well, Angelina pushed her captives in his way, making him catch both Fred and Katie and thus keeping his hands occupied. “Take these two, would you?” 

“Hey!” 

Angelina turned her wand towards the motionless girls and uttered a quiet “ _Rennervate_ ” that had no effect. Her shoulders slumped and she resignedly turning towards the remaining girl of the group. “Alicia, could you find a professor and tell them that we found two… frozen students. No, _petrified_ students.” Once Alicia had run of to complete her mission Angelina turned to their Seeker, a frown on her face. “Do you think the person you heard might have done this Harry?” 

“I– maybe? I don’t think so?” 

“Well, let’s see what the professors say. Wait… this is not one of your pranks, is it?” Angelina asked Fred and George. After taking a second to think (because there were _a lot_ of traps set up around the castle. Sometimes it was a little hard to keep track), they shook their heads in unison. “Didn’t think so. But I have noticed that you’ve been experimenting with delayed traps this year. It was worth asking at least.” 

With a sigh she settled back against the castle wall. 

The rest of the team settled down to wait as well. 

It did not take too long before Professor McGonagall arrived and whisked the two girls away to the infirmary. What with the professor wanting to ask all of them what had transpired in the corridor the quidditch players found themselves trailing after McGonagall like little ducklings to the infirmary and, once the girls had been turned over to Madam Pomfrey’s care, onwards towards the Transfiguration professor’s office. Once there they were asked (interrogated) what happened. Not that any of them had much to say on the matter. After all, Harry had been the one who heard the voice (and wasn’t that a concerning thought). 

With the rumour mill at Hogwarts being what it was, naturally, every student was aware that two of their own had been found petrified the very next day. The fact that nothing could be done for these students until Professor Sprout’s mandrakes were mature only spurred the gossipers on further. 

Fred found himself troubled over the incident. After all, it was worrying that someone in school was going around petrifying students. That they could find no trace of this someone was not a good sign. A thought no doubt shared by the rest of the Hogwarts students. 

But in the true spirit of youth, the fear emanating from the students was soon a thing of the past. Going around anxiously was not something any witches or wizards were prone to doing, especially when no new petrified victims turned up. It seemed that everyone were happy to ignore that something had ever happened. 

oooOOooo 

On the first of February George and Fred finally got the time to pay Madam Black another visit. Hopefully she would take kinder to them this time, what with Lee having gone to see her many times in the interim and them being friends with the boy. Surely that would count for something. 

Well, it sort of did. When the twins arrived in front of the portrait, she did not look at them like they were less than the dirt under her feet, which was a big improvement to the first time they visited. No, this time it was more like a not-you-two- _again_ face that greeted them. 

They got that reaction a lot. 

This being the case, both George and Fred were perfectly capable of handling the situation. 

George even got her to regale them with the tale of the first time the Madam came face to face with a Dark Lady (and did that not sound promising? The first, that was. A _first time_ meant that there were _more times_ – and thus _more_ stories to be told). Although once the woman looked as if she would curse them if alive, he and Fred decided it might be time for a strategic retreat. 

Just before the brothers got out of earshot George heard Madam Black complaining to herself. “Every generation they find me. Why can’t it be some cute little thing with an interest in knife wielding or assassination? But no, I get bloody mischief-makers every single time. ‘Marauders’ and ‘Zonkos’ and ‘Tricksters’ and ‘Blackburns’ and ‘Prewetts’…” 

The portrait must have been moving away from the front of her frame, as the sound of her voice slowly disappeared. Which was a right shame, as George was very interested in her mention of _Marauders_. Something he shared with Fred, from the look on his brother’s face. 

They would have to ask her… they would have to ask _Lee_ to ask her if she knew who they thought she might know. 

oooOOooo 

Fred and George were wandering down the halls on their way from the History of Magic classroom when they happened upon Percy holding hands with a girl from Ravenclaw. 

“Well, well, well. What do we –” 

“– have here? Are my eyes deceiving me Gred?” 

“I don’t know, Forge. You seeing what I am seeing? Has Perfect –” 

“– Prefect –” 

“– Percy –” 

“– finally found someone willing to put up with him?” 

“We are ever so proud!” 

Fred mimed drying tears while Percy glared at them. 

“This must be who you were sending letters to during Christmas hols,” Fred continued with a laugh. 

“Yes, I also found this highly peculiar. _Our_ brother, being _social_. I worried the end of the world might be approaching.” 

Percy started firing off stinging hexes after them (in the corridors! Perfect Prefect Percy breaking the rules! Shame on him) forcing them to retreat. 

Fred dragged him into the hidden passageway that would take them to the Great Hall and away from their indignant brother. Fred sat down to catch his breath for a bit when George finally got the chance to ask the thing that had been on his mind since their confrontation with Percy. “Percy was sending letters?” 

“Yes, every other day or so.” 

“I didn’t notice.” 

“Really? He wasn’t all that subtle.” 

“Well, next time you should _tell me_ ,” George mumbled, before he frowned. “It’s harder to play along when I have no idea what you’re actually talking about, brother. That was a bit too close for comfort.” 

“I will, I will,” Fred promised. 

George sprawled out on the (thankfully not dusty – one never knew with these passages) floor. “ _Who_ thought fooling everyone into believing we could read each other’s minds was a good idea, again?” 

“That would be _you_.” 

“Right.” 

Fred laughed. “You have to agree that it is great fun. We’ve got everyone except Bill and dad fooled, now.” 

George did not know if one could even call it fooling at this point. While pretending to be mind-readers at seven had been somewhat challenging, interpreting and understanding Fred’s small gestures or changes in tone of voice had become second nature long ago. Their level of reding the other’s body language was probably as close to mind-reading as one could get without actually using any type of mind-reading magics (which even _they_ knew not to meddle with. _Yet_ ). 

Having caught their breaths, George and Fred got back up and started to walk again. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the letters. Think of how much teasing material you have deprived me off,” he pouted, mock (mostly) shoving Fred into a wall. 

“I caught one once. You won’t believe what it said…” 

oooOOooo 

The less said about Valentine’s day of the year 1993 the better. 

At least, that was the general consensus of the student body. Fred found the sentiment ludicrous. 

It had been a great day, and a magical show of the Weasley twins’ prowess. 

They had spent ages decorating the school, decking it out in pink and red flowers, glitter and garlands. They also procured food fit for the occasion (by bribing the house elves) and even managed to get some music for the occasion in the form of singing Dwarves. One could not forget about the dwarves. A _true_ stroke of genius, that had been. 


	4. Chapter 4

“Are the books the Harpy gave _us_ any good?” Fred asked a late February evening. He would not know the answer to the question, after all, seeing as George had squirreled away all but one of the books in question (one which Fred enjoyed reading, granted, but still). 

“Oh yes, they are all very interesting. It is like seeing our world from another perspective. Or like visiting a new world. Honestly, who knew muggles were this inventive! When we go to the muggle library to pick up some new physics books for you, we simply must grab some muggle fiction as well.” George opened one of the books, this one illustrated, and held it up for him. “Look here. Alice, the main character, is drinking _potions_ and eating things that change her size. We simply must try this out! I have been looking up some spells and potions, and I know we can get it to work. We will have to alter them, which might take some time, especially if we want our creation to take the form of, say, candy. But when we manage it it’ll be such a hit!” 

After reding the pages centred around the changes befalling this Alice, Fred nodded. “It would be hard, and we are already working on other important projects, but I think this is something we can do. Hmm… We could probably test out solutions during Potions class. Professor Snape has been denying our existence in his class since the _incident_ . I doubt he’ll notice what we’re up to… until it blows up, that is.” 

Which was exactly what they did. Experiment during potions, that was, not blow up the dungeons. They (cough – George – cough) had already done that once (as Snape kept on reminding them). 

Before the next lesson George reviewed their old notes on the Shrinking and Swelling Solution. Meanwhile, Fred looked into the equation behind the Engorgement Charm, as well as others like it, trying to find the common denominators. Only then would he be able to begin trifling whit something new.Fred was also studying the theory behind combining spells with potions (he felt it was time to brush up on that since the last time he tried it he ended up giving Mrs Norris wings. Wings that had proved horribly difficult to get rid of, so). 

Thus, next potions lesson they were ready to begin experimenting with different potion bases that might work for their purposes. It went well. They confirmed that the base used in both Shrinking and Swelling Solutions was indeed the best and would _probably_ still work if they added it to candy mixture later in the process. Although they would have to substitute some of the ingredients, since those would undoubtably be destroyed by said candy mixture. 

That was when the cauldron almost blew up. Key word being _almost_. 

Which meant they were promptly thrown out of the classroom and given detention (such an overreaction. It didn’t explode in the end, now did it?) 

But at least this verified the fact that they certainly could brew whatever they liked during lessons if they made sure not to blow things up. Without paying mountains of gold for ingredients, besides. 

How come they never tried this before? 

Not that they used the most expensive ingredients, of course. The candies would have to be sold for a reasonable price when they opened their own joke shop (which they _would_ do). 

Another advantage of experimenting during lessons was the increase of time it opened up for other projects. Especially as Fred had to put a lot of focus on Arithmancy in the weeks leading up to the middle of March. Normally he (and George) just threw together something that could almost be passed off as an essay when it came to homework and projects, but Fred suspected Parkinson might eviscerate him if they flunked this one, so. Hard work for school it was. 

This meant that Fred’s allotted time for research had diminished greatly. Having time to brew prank potions during class with George was therefore a blessing. 

oooOOooo 

With Fred working on his group project more evenings than not, George found himself with a lot of spare time. What with him having to avoid being roped into playing peacemaker between his brother and Parkinson by hiding this did not leave a lot of options when it came to entertainment. 

With this in mind George decided to take a closer look at the spells utilising emotions that he had discussed with Tom (who had, by the way, once again deemed them good enough company to converse with) a couple of months ago. 

Following some discussions with Tom on the subject George was ready to try using his emotions to cast more potent magic. 

He had found an old tome discussing spells used during the witch burnings. It contained spells that might come in useful when he and Fred tested some of their more explosive inventions (working with Shield Charms as they had been did not let them touch anything, the barrier keeping them apart from their project, which made the entire process troublesome). He was going to focus on a spell that made one resistant to fire. Powerful practitioners performing the spell had been known to withstand some of the strongest forms of cursed fire. Hopefully this meant it would protect him and Fred from fireworks as well. 

According to the instruction George was to think of warmth. Nice days in the sun, sitting in front of the hearth or burrowing in mounds of blankets in bed. He was to focus on a nice memory of feeling content and warm in order to connect to the flames. 

But that was not enough. George had to, as the tome put it, _become one_ with the fire. 

Once George could do this, the only thing left was to intone the chant. 

This turned out to be harder than he had anticipated. 

He could not find the ‘ _inner calm of the heat_ ’. 

Which was why Tom made him meditate. As George did _not_ enjoy sitting still form more than ten minutes this was akin to torture. It was exceedingly tedious. Beyond boring. 

He had been told, of course – multiple times even – that emotional casting was hard. This had not prepared him. 

George felt his temper rise as, day after day, he had yet to feel even a flicker of this alleged fire that were to flow in his veins. Finally, after _two weeks_ , he felt the feeling of warmth enveloping his body like the instructions had foretold. 

George gritted his teeth as he sat hidden in a storage closet with his eyes tightly shut. He _would_ ‘become one with the blazing fire’ if it so was the last thing he did. 

oooOOooo 

Trying to merge with one’s inner warmth seemingly required his brother to meditate at least an hour a day. Thus, when Fred came up to the dorms, he once again found his twin sitting ramrod straight in the lotus position looking entirely to vexed for someone performing a task that required a calm mind. 

After observing George’s face contort into an increasingly horrid frown, he finally decided to make himself know. “What are you doing, dear brother of mine?” 

George gave him a disdainful look. “Could you _not_. I am starting to feel something.” 

“Irritation? Anger? The burning rage of a thousand suns?” 

George sighed loudly before visibly centring himself. “Whatever. It’s gone now, anyway.” His brother seemed to take in the harried look on Fred’s face for the first time, then, and slowly a grin spread over his face (irritation seemingly forgotten). “And what about you, darling twin of mine? Did your last meeting with Parkinson before the Big Day go well?” 

“Well, we are done. Finally.” 

In actuality, the Harpy had wanted to add _another_ paragraph, but thankfully he managed to talk (erm, scream) her out of it. But now, now he would be free. After handing in the work tomorrow he would never have to speak to her ever again. 

oooOOooo 

George did _not_ think Fred would be left alone by Parkinson with his project over and done with. 

The witch was like a cat. One whose favourite past time was to provoke others. _One_ , that had found a new plaything always willing to react. The glee Parkinson appeared to feel every time she got on Fred’s nerves spoke for itself. Yes, George doubted his brother would be rid of her. This was not a thought he would share with Fred, however. He was quite enjoying the calm before the storm, thank you very much. 

And a storm it was. 

As George had predicted, three days after the group project was done his respite was shattered. He and Fred had gone to the library to celebrate Fred’s banishment from the place having been lifted. They were just getting into a discussion on the possible use of citrus extract in their new size-changing candy when two Slytherins sat down at the table, straight across from them (the taller one looking like she would rather be anywhere else – George could empathise). “Hello partner.” 

Fred looked up, expression one of dismay. “ _No_.” 

George watched his brother push his chair away from the table and make to flee. Faster than he could blink a small hand closed around Fred’s wrist and the doll like figure holding on to his brother gave a sweet smile. “Going already? But we just arrived. I promise neither of us will be any trouble.” 

Another sweet smile and George could see the snare like hold tightening. 

George ignored the following staring contest of wills. “Hello, Rookwood. How has your day ben so far?” 

Gaze deliberately turned away from her right, where what looked like a tug of war was commencing, Rookwood replied. “Fine, thank you for asking. Got an essay for Herbology, but that is it. You?” 

From the corner of his eye George spotted a gangly teen shaking his arm above his head, trying to make the small blackhead hanging from it detach. “You know, quidditch match tomorrow so there won’t be much time for studying. We’ll turn in early.” 

“Oh right, bad luck. I will pray for your defeat.” 

As the person on his left was now spinning around making the tiny, and shrieking (who knew if it was in delight or irritation), girl holding on to him look like some kind of human propeller. George let his head fall into his arms on the table and sighed, as a loud crash came from his left. Two _unknown_ teenagers had careened into a bookshelf and knocked down half its content, 

Rookwood gave him a pat on the back and asked, “Want to get out of here before Pince shows up?” 

“ _Please_.” 

George and Rookwood made their way out of the library. Before turning a corner, he caught sight of an angry Fred howling in rage and a beaming Parkinson siting primly on his back, quickly followed by the menaces’ faces fell at the purposeful approach of a steaming Madam Pince. 

(Honestly, _George_ was supposed to be the immature… well, _more_ immature, twin. Fred was making him look positively mellow. Oh, how George reputation suffered) 

oooOOooo 

Luckily, Fred did not earn a detention and was able to play the match against Hufflepuff in March. Wood would have been _insufferable_ otherwise and that was something George did not want to deal with. 

Furthermore, there was no Rogue Bludgers this match. Or if there were Harry catching the snitch in two minutes did not give them time to appear. While it was fun to win the game, literally having no chance to play was decidedly not amusing. Well, George watched his brother manage deck two of the opposing Chasers and nearly break one of the Beater’s arms in those minutes (someone was taking out their frustration on the poor Puffs), so he supposed there was _some_ play. 

As long as they won against Ravenclaw in the upcoming match only gaining 150 new points would not matter, anyway. 

When the team came back to the tower after showering it was time for Gryffindor House to celebrate. He and Fred had snuck down to the kitchen and grabbed some snacks on their way in, while some older student revealed a hidden stack of various unknown beverages (no, really, they had no clue what it was. It had been procured during the Muggle Studies outing from the grocery store – and the Muggleborns were keeping their lips sealed, refusing to tell anyone what had been bought). 

After setting up the wireless, the party was in full swing. The younger children were jumping up and down on of the newly declared dance floor while older students were dancing with their partners or friends (trying to look more _sophisticated_ , but honestly just jumping around as well). Others were lounging on the couches talking with their friends, playing games or enjoying the food that had been provided. It was loud, but then, that was part of the experience and the thing George liked the most about Gryffindor gatherings. The atmosphere was simply so cheerful it was impossible not to smile and laugh. 

It also made sneaking around playing some harmless pranks so much easier. 

While experimenting with the size changing candy George and Fred had accidentally stumbled upon _something else_. This something made the potion crystalize into small pellets that upon examination turned out to turn a person’s feat bubble-gum pink. It was not what they had been searching for, true, but it was usable all the same. 

George had taken it upon himself to see if he could make it change the colour of other body parts and take on new colours. And had succeeded (somewhat). He was at the point where the pallets, after ingested, were able to change their intended sector into any shade of colour (except sky blue, for some reason). It could now be made to affects hair, hands, legs, torsos and the right leg. Soon George would find more places, although it would have to be put on the backburner – the Alice in Wonderland inspired candies came first. 

Once a quarter of the assembled Gryffindors had gained some form of coloured appendix, George and Fred finally decided to let loose and join the fun. They had tested out the new, if unexpected, invention and it was time to relax. Fred found a dozen students holed up in a corner of the common room having a competition involving the muggle beverages that had been smuggled into the school and dragged George along to join them. A couple of Muggleborns and Halfbloods were observing the proceeding with poorly hidden amusement, as those raised in the wizarding world tried out the drinks. One student took a swing of some electric-purple coloured liquid and promptly spat it out again – right in the faces of the unlucky ones sitting across from him – and bemoaned its horridness. 

You simply had to love these parties. 

oooOOooo 

George was lying in bed one afternoon discussing his progress with the protection spell that would hopefully guard him from explosions with Tom. 

Although they somehow got off topic and ended up talking about the use of wandless magic (which George was very proud of being able to perform. Well, he could manage four charms at least, and infusing runes with magic was also akin to wandless magic. However, after having listened to Tom bragging about his prowess in this area there was no way George was not expanding upon his repertoire. Being outdone by a pompous diary was _not_ going to be a thing). 

How this later diverged into a debate over whether or not banning certain dark spells and rituals was the right thing to do, was anyone’s guess. 

‘ _Why forbid the Blood Boiling Curse, for example?_ ’ 

‘Because it makes the blood _boil_? Which will, you know, kill a person in a most excruciating way? Why would they _not_ ban it?’ 

‘ _Since the spell, when not overpowered and properly directed, is one of the most effective ways of ridding the body of pathogens resistant to magic. It’s been known to help people survive Dragon Pox, but no. It is “DARK” and “EVIL” (as if the sheeple would be able to recognise dark magic). No, we simply let wizards and witches die. It’s idiocy of the highest degree. _ ’ 

‘They don’t want to make a Curse that’s been primarily used to murder others legal, Tom. Besides, how long before someone gets tortured to death ‘because it’s legal now’?’ 

‘ _Oh, don’t be obtuse_! _Killing someone, even if done with a legal curse, will still count as murder. Same as dropping a stone on someone’s head with the Levitation Charm or overpowering a Tickling Hex to make someone choke counts as murder. You do not need an actual Curse to hurt others, which you are perfectly aware of._ ’ 

‘So what, we should just teach the children how to cast spells used to torment others, is that what you are saying?” 

‘ _Make it restricted to experienced healers or some rot, then. I am only trying to point out that restricting the use of lifesaving magic is nonsensical at best._ ’ 

‘I am not saying I can’t see your point, just that some spells when used are devastating enough that forbidding them seems like the natural thing to do.’ 

‘ _Those who actually use these spells to hurt others won’t be stopped by a label saying “forbidden”._ ’ 

And on it went. Tom had very heated opinions about this topic. Well, Tom felt strongly about so many things that only the most extreme of all the extremes really registered with George anymore (he was so over listening to Tom ramble about his avid aversion of Headmaster Dumbledore’s robes and pickled vegetables, he really was). 

Either way, George found himself conceding with Tom’s point. In the end, it would be hypocritical not to, seeing as both he and his twin were known to… _bend_ the rules when it came too practising the Dark Arts. Both George and Fred had talked about how ridiculous some restrictions were. Although he did stand fast on some points. Making magic like the Blood Boiling Curse legal for the general public was like asking for trouble, but he supposed that there was no harming letting Healers use it to cure people. 

oooOOooo 

In late March Hogwarts was greeted by another four petrified students. 

Sadly, the unfortunate sod that stumbled upon them was once again Harry. 

As there were already rumours about Harry’s supposed status of Aspiring Dark Lord circling around the school, the event only served to add fuel to the fire. Once again people were pointing at the young Gryffindor. Some were even throwing themselves out of the way when their pseudo-brother passed by. 

This was not something Fred or George could stand for! 

So, without further ado, the black capes of menacing auras made a grand reappearance. The smoke effects also resurfaced, this time joined by the new and improved light and sound effects in the form of flashing lightning and ominous music, all that had been invented for The Great Professor Lockhart’s book recitals (sorry, _lessons_ ). 

Therefore, the Boy-Who-Lived to become a Very-Dangerous-And-Totally-Evil-Wizard was now accompanied by a literal thunder cloud and his loyal followers (now having reached the grand count of seven). There was Lee and Ron, who was wearing the menacing cloaks with the smoke effects, except that their shoes had been silenced so that they now glided forward soundlessly. They had also been joined by the girls on the team. Both Alicia and Katie had gone for the same getup as Lee and Ron, but Angelina had wanted something extra. After some brainstorming with George, Angelina’s cloak was outfitted with two scarlet lights shining out of the shadowed hood. 

They also had the great fortune of discovering a previously unknown skill of Angelina’s. It turned out that the Chaser could produce one of the most sinister laughs in history, which opened up a whole slew of new opportunities. 

After three days all followers ended up in detention after going around declaring their alliance (totally worth it though). 

oooOOooo 

George and Fred had a great prank in store. Whit the school’s moral steadily sinking in time with the fear of ending up petrified rising, people were in dire need of some happiness. 

So, just before Easter break (coincidentally on April Fool’s day – happy 15th birthday) the twins spent an entire night decorating the castle with pastel eggs (well, things that were shaped like eggs at least. George was pretty sure it was some kind of lightweight stones). It was especially hard this year, seeing as Mrs Norris was still haunting the castle on silent wings and making said decorating way harder than it should be, but they managed it with the recruited help of Peeves. 

Although, the hardest part had actually been decorating said eggs as Fred had seen fit to transfigure literal hundreds of them. Which George then had to paint. That had been an utter misery, even with the help of transfigurations and charms. 

And now here they were, sneaking around the castle placing branches in the suits of armours, tying them to the staircases and even putting some into the cracks in the mortar. On these branches they would then hang the eggs. After some thought they decided to add bells, feathers and spring flowers in matching colours as well. 

It made for the cheerful environment George had pictured. 

Of course, it would not be complete without a small… twist. 

George and Fred sat down and wrote five truly marvellous songs onto some parchment that they had, after a quickly murmured “ _geminio_ ”, stuffed all over the castle. Apply the singing-book charm and voilà! Now the entirety of Hogwarts was filled with the cheerful voice of Professor Snape crooning out (reasonably) dirty songs (there were _eleven-year olds_ at Hogwarts, after all). 

The next morning the mood had indeed risen, and even Professor McGonagall seemed a little amused by the spectacle and only took fifty points from Gryffindor! 

But it was the smiles appearing on the faces of the formerly downtrodden students that really made George and Fred feel successful. 

oooOOooo 

During Easter break, George and Fred finally got some time to drag Lee of to meet the Black Portrait again. 

They got a bit delayed on their way out of the common room though. The Fat Lady was missing and, in her stead, sat an old woman knitting a pair of socks that Lee (who of course knew her) simply _had_ to talk to. 

At least this way they learned of what had made the normal guardian of the Gryffindor common room disappear. Apparently, the Fat Lady was visiting a friend during break as most students had gone home after yet _another_ petrification scare (there were currently nine students frozen in the infirmary) making the portrait’s role near mote. 

Before long they were off, making sure to keep a close watch on the _Marauder’s Map_ in order to avoid all people as they, you know, did not want to end up petrified. 

When they arrived at Madam Black’s portrait George had to do a double take. Because when told about their house guard visiting another frame for a time, George had not expected her to visit Madam Atria Black. But there the Fat Lady was. 

(Thinking about it, it was not the most unexpected friendship out there) 

Lee had of course asked the Fat Lady about her history before (and then told George and Fred) and although she was tight-lipped on the subject, they had managed to figure out enough facts by third year to search the library. Finding out that Margery Farley, a.k.a. the Fat Lady (who came up with that name anyway? Wasn’t it a bit _too_ derogatory?), was an explosive expert, somewhat of an arsonist and former undercover worker really made the Gryffindors happy they had only showed her respect in the past. 

After the truth was out the Fat Lady finally dropped the act and George found that he and Fred got on marvellously with her. 

Once, they had asked if she would want to be called something else than ‘Fat Lady’ but got a laughing no. She revealed that she had grown very fond of her new moniker, saying that it ‘made people underestimate her’ and also ‘gave her a reason to play the ‘I am extremely hurt by your words, young person, and feel I cannot let you in before you apologise’’. 

As previously stated, the twins got on famously with her. 

That she hung out with a Black was therefore not all that surprising. 

The fact that the two had known each other when alive, on the other hand, _was_. 

George, Fred and Lee spent the rest of the day talking to the portraits and managed to learn even more of the women’s shared adventures. George was mightily impressed by their stories, but was simultaneously thanking Merlin for the fact that he had not been alive in the same time period as the two women. 

Just hearing about the mayhem that seemingly followed them was enough to make him thank his lucky star. This sentiment coming from a renowned prankster should tell you enough about how insane it must have been. 

The presence of the Fat Lady and the regard she held for George and Fred also seemed to be enough to finally make Madam Black warm up to them. Partially, at least. 

However, the greatest consequent of the day was telling the Fat Lady about his quest to make a flying carpet. The portrait had been delighted by the idea and eager to help. Or well, convince Madam Black to help. Which she, after a lot of huffing, did. 

With the new tips from the Madam Black, George managed to finish his flying carpet in less than two weeks. A lot of runes, no less than nine spells (that might be a couple of centuries old, seeing as they were from the portraits’ time) and one of Fred’s inventions later and George had a fully functional flying carpet. 

Learning to ride it, however, was an entirely different story. 

oooOOooo 

George was trying to explain to Fred why it was that he kept falling off and/or crashing his flying carpet. He honestly felt like a giant bruise, after the many times he flew into a tree or hit the lake from 20 feet up in the air. “Operating a flying carpet is entirely different from flying a broom, you know! No small hip movements or shifting your point of gravity to steer. There’s not even a shaft to grasp,” (… and that sounded less odd in his head, but oh well), “You control it with your _mind_. No, you can’t even control it, because it has a mind of its own! If it feels like throwing you off, it Merlin damned will! And the swaying! Don’t even get me started on the swaying!” 

George was so, _so_ done with that bloody thing. The somewhat Persian looking carpet (that Fred had found in an abandoned classroom, he doesn’t actually know what kind of carpet it is. Not that it is actually important…) in orange, indigo and magenta (Once again, _Fred_ was the one who found it!) did not behave as planned. After stitching in the relevant runes during the night in metal aluminium thread, performing the required ritual and some spell work he should have had a normal flying carpet. But, using a spell Fred came up with himself had given the _rug_ way more personality than was sane. 

Pompous, obstinate, pig-headed piece of cloth was way to full of itself. 

Going on about how offended it was about having to bond with a boy who ‘couldn’t even turn up in the air without tumbling down’. 

It was just George’s luck, wasn’t it, being bossed around by an imperious patch of floor covering. 

It took him three days to convince it to even let him practise! 

At least the practise payed off. 

At the end of April George was able to swoop down from the skies and circle the castle towers without a hitch. While he was neither an experienced nor competent flyer yet, he _was_ a tolerable flier at the very least. 

George had invited his classmates to join him once he felt confident enough, but so far not even Fred had accepted. So… George probably has some way to go before he could be considered good at it. 

oooOOooo 

During one of George’s many weekend practises (and there were _many_. His brother was _atrocious_ at flying on his carpet. Fred was nearly embarrassed to be seen next to his brother, that’s how bad he had been in the beginning) Fred was sitting in the sun just outside a grove of trees. At last he was taking the time to read another of the books Elestren Parkinson had tried to… bribe? taunt?... him with. 

He was going to read. 

He barely managed to read half a page before, as if summoned by him simply thinking the cursed name, the Harpy cleared her throat no more than five feet away from him. Fred almost jumped out of his skin by her sudden presence. To his surprise she did not, for once, _attack_ (yes George – she _attacked_ ) him but instead settled down in the grass a couple of feet away. It could almost be considered a proper distance. 

For the first time since he had met her, the blue eyes were not screaming trouble, although he could still spot a bit of plotting and mischief hiding in their depths. But less than normal, though… which was honestly more unnerving than not. 

“So… Remember those books you so graciously had enchanted for me? Well, I gave them to some friends of mine, and they really appreciated them. You and your brother are trying to save up and set money aside for after school, no? I have a proposition for you. One that could help you further your goals greatly. 

Fred was about to shot her down when George swooped down from the skies like an ungainly and very inebriated, flying moose. 

Fred could only look on in disbelief as his twin gave the bane of his existence a wide smile. “Business proposal, you said?” 

“Indeed.” 

Parkinson grinned, hinting at the pandemonium that was to come although her voice was strictly business-like as she and George began to talk. 

(Fred... somewhat trusted her to do what she said. Because while he and Parkinson might have spent the majority of their time arguing about the correct way of structuring their equations during their group project, they did get a clear Outstanding for their work – Oh, who is he kidding? Fred would not even trust the Harpy to watch over his least favoured sock, never mind something of actual value!) 

Fred opened his mouth multiple times, but nothing came out except for a distress keening as the Harpy and his _formerly_ beloved twin began to talk about meetings and solicitors and contracts. _What was happening?_

Before he knew it, George had agreed to a meeting between the three of them next week for further discussion before the traitor took off again, not even dignifying his betrayed brother with a glance. The _nerve_ of him! 

Fred was still spluttering in offense, planning out how exactly he would take retribution for this offence, when he spotted a way to familiar smirk in his peripheral. 

Fred found himself stringed up by his feet in a tree (and George was conspiring with this monster. Just because the two had talked about muggle books a couple of times – what, now they were _friends_? No, no this was not okay). 

With huge effort, Fred made himself take a deep breath to calm down. 

_This was fine_ . 

He was a calm and perfectly reasonable wizard. 

This did not face him. At all. Not even a little bit! 

Having had way too much practise, Fred cut himself lose with a swift spell and vaulted down to land on his feet. 

Morgana, but it could not be stated enough. He has had way, _way_ too much practise getting out of these kinds of situations. 

Fred looked up as George whooped above him, doing a _loop_ (idiot – _do not fall –_ oh, Morgana he’s going to _–_ okay he’s fine) before righting himself. Fred sighed, resigned to forgiving his brother, whose purling laughter travelled across the grounds. They never could stay angry with one another, now, could they? 

…But maybe George would find himself one eyebrow short tomorrow morning. Just maybe. 

oooOOooo 

“Hey George, we got mail,” Fred said from across the table in early May. 

“You don’t say?” his twin deadpanned, looking pointedly at the owl belonging to Bill that was currently sat on his plate. “I would have never noticed.” 

Fred ignored him as he opened the letter, unravelling multiple rolls of what might actually be five yards of parchment put together. “Let’s see. Dragon hatchling with accompanying pictures forwarded from Charlie, news of the tomb Bill mentioned in the last letter, complains about the tosser who just got assigned as his subordinate… and here it is.” Fred leaned back on the bench to look further up the table. “Ginny!” he yelled while gesturing with the parchment still in his hand. “Bill sent us some new spells.” 

Before Fred was done with his sentence a small redhead jumped up from the bench and sprinted down to his seat, pushing her way in next to him. “What did he send this time?” 

Fred held out one of the many rolls sent by their brothers. “This one is for you. Something about a Bat-Bogey Hex, I think, and some old Egyptian jinxes found by the new dig.” Ginny reached out for her letter, but Fred snatched it out of her reach. “Now, remember what the rules are?” 

Their baby sister started counting them off on her fingers. “Don’t try any of the more volatile spells out without supervision, don’t ever tell mum and finally; cause as much mayhem as possible.” 

Fred graciously handed her the parchment while George sniffed, pretending to wipe away a tear. 

“We are so proud –” 

“– of you Ginny!” 

While the littlest Weasley jumped over to the Ravenclaw table, presumably to show her friend the new finds, George snagged his own letter from Fred. 

“Oh _yes_ , old Egyptian rituals and a prank spell Bill’s colleague from Germany told him about. And he says he will finally send me that book on Egyptian runes for class! What about you?” 

Ron walked by and snatched his and Percy’s letters from Fred’s outstretched hand, mumbling what might have been a greeting between yawns. 

“Hmm, same prank spell as you. All the new gossip from the site, of course, but you know I don’t care– ” 

George laughed. “Sure.” 

“… Fine, I think the gossip is hilarious. Whatever. Bill is a wonderful storyteller, you know this. The point is that he did not send any more spells, but we have been discussing the arithmancy behind the curses placed on the last tomb they excavated.” 

“Math?” 

“Yeah, that’s about what I thought you’d say. So, the spell that switches out the verbs of those affected. Want to try it out?” 

The students of Hogwarts were a bit confused when, three hours later, people began to randomly tell others about their need to ‘kiss their teeth’, ‘haunt the porridge’, ‘breed their homework’ and ‘subjugate their friends’. 

Fred and George wrote many, many, _many_ words of thanks to their brother and asked him to please thank his friend from them because oh, did she deserve it. 

oooOOooo 

George was wandering down the corridor while diligently scanning a page from his charms book. He had not had time to do the required reading for the class and was hoping an overview might help, but with four minutes remaining before the Charms lesson was to begin George highly doubted he would manage to squeeze in much of the required information. 

Suddenly he felt his foot catch on something, and he lost his balance. George saw the ground appear as in slow-motion and barely managed to let go of his book to catch himself with his hands, face mare inches from the floor. Cursing under his breath he turned around to look at whatever tripped him, only to fall short. His foot had snagged the hood of a Gryffindor first year’s robes. Not that George thought the first year in question would mind, seeing as he was currently frozen. Yet _another_ petrified student. 

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” he sighed wearily. This was the third one this _week_. Honestly, it was beginning to feel unnerving to walk the corridors now. Whoever it was that spent their days creeping around the school attacking students needed to get a life. And caught. Preferably soon. 

But the thing that George found most confusing was that except for students turning up petrified, nothing else was happening. Where were the sinister notes written in blood proclaiming the perpetrator’s intentions? Why did no letters made up of newspaper clippings carrying the demands of the culprit arrive? What was the motive, the hidden agenda? _Why was this happening_? 

There were no answers. None. Absolutely _nothing_. 

Whit a huff George picked himself up from the ground. He would tell Professor Flitwick about the new victim before class started. 

This might be the last day he could walk around the school unhindered and unaccompanied. The professors had been discussing the merits of escorting the children from class to class, in addition to adding prefect guards when the number of adults would run short. 

This would make is significantly harder to do anything fun in the castle. 

Fred had suggested they watch the _Map_ to see if they could catch the culprit in the act, but so far, they had had no luck. It might be time to branch out further. To ask the secret network of spies that resided in the castle to look for the person petrifying students to left and right. And if the portraits and ghost turned out to be a bust as well, then they would... George did not know what they would do, actually. But he would figure it out if it became necessary. 

Four hours later, when the lessons were over for the day, George went outside in the hopes of spending his last day of freedom out in the fresh air. And wonders of wonders, it was actually sunny outside. 

Once outside, George settled down on a big boulder by the lake to try too, once again, connect to his _inner flame_. 

“I am hot. I am hot. My hotness is like a staggering, burning, tangible flame. I am the _hottest_!” 

“What in the world are you doing, Weasley?” 

George glanced up at the two girls blocking the precious sunlight. And even worse, they were interrupting his meditation. He was trying out mantras today! 

It was Angelina and, surprisingly, Rookwood. Or well, not that surprising. Some of the Gryffindor players had grown closer to their Slytherin counterparts during those awful months. After having endured such hardship together some bonding was to be expected, George supposed. 

(Well, everyone got along, except for their obstinate team captains and their Seekers. But let’s not count those four) 

“I am becoming one with the fire of my heart,” George answered the bewildered Rookwood. 

“How’s that going for you?” 

“Does my eyes shine with the flames of a thousand suns?” 

“No.” 

“Well, there you have it.” George pushed himself up from the ground. “Well, I am done. What are you two up to?” 

Angelina held up a deck of cards in silent answer. 

“Have room for another player?” 

Five minutes later all three of them had settled down on a bigger rock, Angelina dealing, and then they were playing. 

They were on their fifth round (Rookwood just kept winning, even when George and Angelina banded together. They could not give up yet) when a commotion from across the grounds finally reached a volume that was unignorable. It was some seventh year arguing about… something with some other seventh years. Sounded a bit like they were accusing someone of being _the_ petrifier? Whatever it was, they were arguing very loudly. 

When it went from heated screaming to hazardous fighting the three quidditch players got up to intervene. But they barely got to their feet before they noticed the six Hufflepuffs striding towards the crowed now firing of spells at one another. 

At the head of the group was prefect Clarice Simmons. Then there was Cedric rushing after his cousin and the brown-haired beater off Hufflepuff, Peter Bradley (who was as fearsome with a bat as he was with a wand when it came to duelling – although Cedric was of course the best dueller the school had seen in a century, if Professor Flitwick was to be believed) and the two seventh year Hufflepuff prefects. The last one was, upon closer inspection, not even a Hufflepuff, as he had first thought, but a smirking Slytherin. 

Let’s just say that if George was the one about to be confronted, he would be running for the hills. 

Rookwood gave the fighting seventh years a pitiful look. “Poor sods. Clarice is already in a foul mood, what with the new restrictions on movement getting implemented. I wonder –” The Slytherin cut herself of too wince in sympathy as Simmons descended upon the unknowing students. 

It was funny to watch (from a safe distance) as a bunch of seventh years were cowed by a small fifth year with little more than a look. As soon as the formerly quarrelling wizards and witches realised who was stood before them, they all went white and one even started to tremble. 

George, Angelina and Rookwood all moved back as one, because – as previously stated – _safe distance_. 

And then Parkinson and the rest of the Hufflepuffs got involved as well. 

Now, finding out who was turning people into statues just became first priority. If the events were going to incense the Hufflepuffs, then school might actually become a nightmare. There was nothing that terrified George more than angry Hufflepuffs. 

Catching the perpetrator sounded like a much, much better option. 

_It was time to find the culprit._


	5. Chapter 5

Tom had a _slight_ problem. Well, it was more like _problems_ , and they were actually quite big ones at that. 

And the biggest one? Somehow, he had managed to gain a _conscience_. 

Which probably had something to do with him constantly absorbing parts of _two_ persons’ souls. That particular detail had not been part of the plan. Do not get him wrong, it was making him more stable. His soul having grown also meant that his thoughts as well as his magic were once again returning to clarity. And magic in general was so much easier to control, easier than he could ever remember it being. 

The thing was that having such a large portion of _otherness_ was warping his personality. To an absurd degree, it had to be noted. 

He had always been aware that the general population thought it immoral to commit… certain actions, but this awareness was solely on an intellectual level. Those beliefs were only useful in the sense that he knew what actions not to get _caught_ doing, but they certainly never stopped him from actually doing it in the end. And not once had Tom ever lost sleep over that fact. 

After all, those sentiments were beneath him. He would never allow himself to be held back by social constructions such as _morality_. 

Or at least he _had_. 

While he could not muster up any sort of remorse for actions that people considered wrong, since absorbing pieces of the twins’ soul he had begun to feel shame… over _not_ feeling shame. That was the most ridiculous part! He was getting upset by the fact that he did _not_ feel upset or regretted his actions. He felt bad over _not_ feeling bad! 

It was absurd, and awful and most of all? It felt bloody awful. 

Tom abhorred the sick feeling in his stomach. It was like a stone had taken up residence there, weighting him down and he wanted the feeling gone. 

Tom was not made to withstand these conflicting thoughts. So here he was, absorbing morals that were yanking him in different directions. It was beyond tiring. It was also giving him headaches. 

Or the equivalent of headaches that teenage horcruxes suffered by, anyway. 

But Tom was coping. He would not be defeated nor defined by a pesky thing such as remorse. Tom was a prodigy of astounding proportions and the mere thought that something like _this_ would get in his way was laughable. 

Then students began to turn up petrified. 

Which would have been fine, had _Tom_ been the one behind it. 

But he was not. And if Tom was not the one responsible, then who in Salazar’s name _was_? 

First Tom thought it some kind of coincidence, because really, what were the odds of the basilisk randomly starting to petrify students when Tom was in school. Minimal. So surely, he had thought, it must be some prank gone wrong. A prank whose affects just happened to be _somewhat_ similar to that of a basilisk’s reflected stare. 

But then it _kept on happening_. 

And happening. And happening. _And happening_. 

All signs pointed towards it being a basilisk. The effects were identical. Still, Tom found it improbable that the glorious serpent of his ancestor one day just up and decided to roam around and wreak havoc within the school. 

So, what was behind the snake’s sudden appearance? The conundrum was driving him (further) insane. 

But one thing Tom knew; he would not, under any circumstances, be informing the twins of the Chamber of Secrets. 

Those two could never be allowed within those sacred halls. Who knew what those maniacs would get up to? 

Tom would not be telling the twins. He would keep quiet. 

He could do that. _No problem_. 

oooOOooo 

Tom caved. 

After listing to the twins complain about the ministry sending _Aurors_ to Hogwarts. 

That was unacceptable. Tom would not stand for that _filth_ running around his school. It had to be stopped. 

(Especially as they might end up deciding to close the school, as they had almost done the _last_ time) 

Tom might care for the Chamber, but he cared about Hogwarts _more_. 

oooOOooo 

So apparently, the Chamber of Secrets was a thing. 

And real. 

Both Fred and George had read about it, of course, but to know that it actually existed was something else. Probable monster included. 

Saying that they would stop the petrification was all well and good, but actually accomplishing this knowing that they might end up facing down a basilisk was a little more than they had bargain for. 

Obviously, he and George had _a lot_ of planning to do before taking Tom’s secret slide down to the bowels of the castle (oh, how offended the diary-boy had been when they referred to his ‘sacred entrance’ as a slide. Good times). Brooms were a must. And a roaster or ten (to be on the safe side, as Tom seemed to be _very_ attached to the alleged basilisk. Something about it being a crime against their forefathers to kill such an ancient serpent. Personally, Fred did not care overly much about what Salazar Slytherin might have thought. What he did care about, however, was that the threat of castration would be fulfilled in the event that the snake perished). Who knew, a couple of smoke bombs, mirrors, and pointy objects might also be good to have on hand. 

Then there was the tiny question about who to send down. 

Asking a professor was out. Mostly because they would ask just how he and George had gotten their hands on the information which… no. Telling their teachers about their mysterious, talking book which was strangely elusive when it came to questions of its origin did not sound like the best course of action. For some reason Fred doubted the adults would be satisfied with Tom’s vague explanations and non-answers (and they really, _really_ ought to investigate that soon). 

(The most either twin had managed to get out of Tom was that the diary was some sort of ‘storage unit’ for the original Tom Riddle’s memories. Which did not even come close to explain everything, now did it? Once again – they should get on to that investigation business) 

Also, _adventure_. 

The was no bloody way either of them would allow a buzzkill professor to tag along. 

Although Fred thought it prudent not to go down to the Chamber with only George to accompany him. Somehow, he doubted that two fifteen-year-olds would be able to put up much of a fight against a millennium old serpent. 

Now, if they could not ask their professors, why not ask their fellow students? 

Lee would be the obvious choice when confronting a volatile creature (Outstanding across the board in Care of Magical Creatures), except that they could not actually transport the boy to the Chamber. Not only because Lee was a sweetheart and bringing him into any kind of danger always made Fred and George feel uneasy, but also because Lee was an absolutely horrid flyer. Even worse than George on a flying carpet. As the only way to enter and then get out again was by broom, Lee might not be the best person to bring along for their quest. They could not even let him ride along with one of them, seeing as the school brooms were known to fail when carrying more than one person. 

Lee was therefore out (although their friend had volunteered to stun and borrow a couple of roosters for them). 

So, their search for the perfect accomplices continued. 

In the end they decided to ask Angelina, Alicia and Katie. Good flyers and more than decent fighters. 

They might also have no choice but to involve Harry. Neither Fred nor George wanted to bring a second year with them to confront Salazar Slytherin’s monster, but Tom was adamant that they would need a Parselmouth to enter the Chamber of Secrets (and oh, how Tom had been surprised when they told him they knew one). 

Because of the necessity to bring a small child along for their excursion, Fred thought it wise to get some more protection involved. An ample line of defence was needed when one wished to bring twelve-year olds along for adventures. Thus, Fred decided to recruit Cedric (once again, best dueller in school) and Simmons (if only because she walked in on his conversation with Cedric. After having been informed that the fifth year would kill both him and his twin if they brought her baby cousin to fight some monster without her, he decided that one more member sounded like a _great idea_ ). 

And thus, all the members for the mission had been chosen. 

(What they did not count on was that by involving Harry Potter, their little brother and Hermione Granger would also want to tag along. It took an inordinate amount of time to convince them that no, they could not come. Luckily, they managed to somewhat appease the younger children by letting Hermione help Lee with his research on basilisks, as well as put Ron on guard duty.) 

They would go down during the night of May the 12th. They had wanted to go during a weekend, preferably in the day, but those times the corridors were teeming with Aurors. No, they would have to go during the night, when the amount of Aurors patrolling the school went down. George had even managed to find out when the guards changed shift, which would give them a small window of opportunity to get to the bathroom (honestly, a _bathroom_? They could put the entrance to the Chamber anywhere and they chose a _bathroom_. Fred was so disappointed). 

In what felt like no time at all, the night of the mission was upon them. 

Thus Fred, George and little Harry crammed themselves in under the Seeker’s invisibility cloak minutes before midnight. Fred had a bag stuffed with useful knickknacks hanging over his shoulder and in his right hand he was clutching the _Marauder’s Map_. 

Fred held the tip of his walnut wand against the parchment and whispered, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” and then ink flowed out from the point of contact and a map of Hogwarts was revealed. 

“What is _that_?” 

“Not that we would not love to regale you with stories –” 

“– of the brilliance that is the Marauders, but right now –” 

“– really isn’t the best time, Harrykins.” 

Harry let the subject drop, although he looked very reluctant to do so and kept sending the map furtive glances. 

As soon as they left the common room however (with a wink from the Fat Lady) there were other things to occupy all their minds. 

With George keeping a close eye on the _Map_ , the three made their way to one of the abandoned classrooms and snuck inside. In the right corner, hidden from view by the desks, were the stunned roosters (because not even the Weasley twins would be able to get away with bringing three stunned birds into the common without rising some brows). Fred took out a box with an extension charm from his bag and placed the animals in it, before handing the box to Harry. 

“Okay, that’s done. Let’s get to the bathroom.” 

Harry once again hid under his cloak, while he and George each cast a disillusionment spell on themselves (none of them felt like navigating stairs pressed up like sardines, thank you very much). 

They had just reached the third floor when he heard George swear from behind him. 

“Hmm?” Fred inquired in a whisper. 

“Mrs Norris,” George hissed out before he began to herd them towards the stairs. 

Fred was putting his foot down on the last stair when he saw a sweeping shadow fly out into the stairwell. Mrs Norris settled on the banister over their heads, standing stock still and sniffing the air. Fred felt he could hardly breathe, afraid to make a sound (and why, _why_ , did he not think of casting a spell to mask their scents or noise?). And then she turned her glowing eyes downwards, and Fred felt like their gazes met. She had noticed the three boys. 

Said boys were already rushing towards Myrtle’s toilet by the time Mrs Norris was airborne, but the cat was quickly gaining on them. 

Fred slowed to a halt. He turned around and transfigured one of the wall hangings into a net that he flung outwards so that it covered the entire corridor from floor to ceiling (Merlin, but was he glad for all the training he and George had done on the levitation charm on Flitwick’s urging). He smirked when he heard the incensed hissing coming from behind, as the three companions raced on. 

Fred felt like giving his past self a pat on the back for having taken the absolute mayhem they might cause into account and planning accordingly. No way would the sound of them sprinting down the corridors have been overlooked by the Aurors. Although, if his calculations were right, they only had a minute before the new shift went on… 

“One minute,” he panted out and the three Gryffindors increased their speed further. 

A few turns later they arrived by the second-floor girl’s lavatory and Fred threw himself into the abandoned bathroom, gasping for breath. 

“How did we come to the conclusion that giving Mrs Norris wings would be _fun_?” George puffed out. 

“You tell me.” 

George did not get a chance to reply, as Cedric opened the door that moment, entering with Clarice Simmons following closely behind. 

“I found it fun,” Simmons said in greeting, obviously having heard their previous conversation. “You have made life so much easier for us prefects this year. The addition of wings has increased Mrs Norris’ success rate with 60%. It’s made patrolling the halls laughably easy… well, until people began to turn up petrified, that is.” 

“Which is why we are here,” Cedric cut in. “We brought the brooms and eight mirrors, as requested.” 

While they waited for their last three members, Cedric began to make small talk and generally just being his usual cheerful self. Although Fred noticed that there was a slight edge to the blonde’s smile. Fred guessed the nerves were getting to him. He could relate, what with finding himself in a similar predicament. Descending into the bowels of the school with the intent of confronting a massive snake known to attack children was wont to do that. 

About two minutes later, the door opened once more, but only Angelina and Alicia came in. 

“What– ” George began but was cut off. 

“We almost ran into an Auror. Katie distracted her while we snuck by,” Alicia explained. “But the woman bought Katie’s ‘romantic rendezvous’ excuse so we’re still in the clear.” 

Fred sighed internally. So, they would be one person short. Not ideal, but they would make do. 

“Okay,” Fred began. “Everyone knows the plan. We go in, Harry convinces the snake that petrifying students is bad and then we get out. Mission accomplished.” 

“And if Harry doesn’t manage to talk to it,” George added, “we go ahead with plan sack-the-birds-at-the-snake. Also known as plan B.” 

Which would hopefully not even be needed, Fred thought to himself, determined to stay optimistic. Everything would be _fine_. It was adventure time. 

Seeing it as his cue, Harry made his way to the front of the group and hissed lowly at the sink Tom had told them about. Slowly said sink opened, revealing a black hole leading into the depths of Hogwarts. 

Cedric silently handed out the brooms and, equally quiet, the seven teenagers mounted the brooms. 

oooOOooo 

George stuck his head into the massive hole where the sink had stood before and peered down. This did not look so bad – wait, he took it back. He blanched at the foreign feeling of the slime like substance that had dripped onto his nose from above and hastily retrieved his head. Well, they ware up for a pleasant ride, weren’t they? 

“Right, everyone. Let’s go.” 

After a murmured “ _Lumos_ ” George kicked off the ground. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he then settled on his broom before diving headfirst into the pipe. It was a twisting ride resulting in George nearly colliding with a wall thrice and did end up with him getting smeared with an unseemly amount of unknown substances. Luckily, it did not take long for them to reach the bottom. 

“Well isn’t this just lovely,” Alicia muttered, kicking one of the many skeletons littering the ground into the air. 

Trying not to think about what he was stepping on; George walked over to Fred and retrieved a map from his twin’s bag. Here is to hoping Tom’s directions were right. 

And so the group trudged on, George making sure to keep track of their position on the map. This was so not the time to get lost, after all. 

With lit wands held before them they walked down the passageway. When they came to a turn George held up a hand and Fred stepped forward, mirror in hand. His brother extended his arm and held up the mirror, giving the two of them a good look around the bend. 

“All clear.” 

After ten minutes (according to Cedric’s clock) of gingerly walking over bones and enduring the ever-present sound of crunching George once again motioned for all of them to stop. 

“Okay, after we round this bend it’s about two hundred yards and one intersection before we reach our goal.” 

“Yay,” Angelina intoned sarcastically. 

“Yep!” 

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Fred muttered as he stalked forward with his mirror and– “Eek!” 

George almost jumped out of his skin at his brother’s sudden shriek, but quickly gathered himself. He and the rest of the quest members extended their wands (except Simmons, who was holding one of the roosters she had commandeered). A spell was at the tip of his tongue, but he relaxed when Fred visibly inflated. “False alarm,” his twin mumbled breathlessly. “It was just some skin. The snake must have shed recently.” 

Carefully, as he was still somewhat high on adrenalin (which was a really fascinating subject. The things the muggles had discovered about the human body… okay, maybe this wasn’t the time for that. But seriously. Biology! Chemistry!), George walked around the turn, shadowed by Simmons who was still holding the bird. He flinched slightly when he noticed the shed snakeskin lying in front of them. 

“You call that ‘just some skin’?” Alicia said pointedly from behind George. “That thing is ginormous!” 

“Mordred’s toenails, we are doomed, aren’t we?” 

“When Tom said the basilisk was ‘quite big’,” Fred murmured in George’s ear, “this isn’t quite what I was picturing.” 

“Yeah,” George agreed faintly. 

“How would it even fit through the corridors?!” 

George felt a little bashful, because while this had suddenly turned nerve-racking, he was abundantly aware of the tiny ball of excitement growing in his belly. This was quite a thrilling experience. Well, maybe George is not the best judge when it comes to these kinds of things. He and Fred _did_ spend a majority of last year hanging out with a three headed dog and traipsing around the hidden obstacle course (he was still a bit miffed that Ron and his friends managed to complete it before them). On the other hand, he was a Gryffindor. Courage and bravery were not _that_ far from being daring and reckless, _surely_? It was practically normal Gryffindor behaviour. 

“Calm down. We’ll be fine,” Simmons said to Alicia, who was beginning to look a little pale. Whatever the older girl murmured to Alicia after that evidently cheered his teammate up and Alicia’s face gained a look of determination. When the Chaser gave a resolute nod, Simmons raised a brow teasingly. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be a Gryffindor?” 

When Alicia snorted, the general mood lifted and the eight of them steadfastly continued on. They were prepared, and nothing, no matter how big, would stand in their way. It was adventure time. 

As George had predicted, they shortly arrived in front of a grand door with snakes carved onto its surface. Harry once again murmured something in Parseltongue, and the previously still stone snakes came to life, slithering across the door’s surface. The lock clicked open within seconds and the door opened inwards, granting them access to Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets. 

Angelina took a deep breath before speaking. “Remember, we are to keep our distance.” 

“What she said,” Fred agreed. “No one goes close to the basilisk, and let’s try to only look in the mirrors if absolutely necessary. Otherwise; eyes closed.” 

After everyone nodded, Fred pushed the door until it was fully opened, and they entered the legendary Chamber. 

Which turned out to be a _major_ disappointment. 

The name had made George picture some awe-inspiring architecture and he was thus quite underwhelmed by the reality. While it had probably been grand in the past, it was now nor more than a mouldy and flooded room shrouded in darkness. 

And then there was the distinct lack of a giant serpent. 

The eight of them spread out across the expanse in groups of two to survey the cavernous space. With the racket they were making by wading through the water and jumping over fallen pillars and debris, one would think the basilisk would appear. But nothing happened and after a couple of minutes they assembled in the middle of the room. George motioned towards the large statue of a very creepy monkey – sorry, _wizard_ – that he assumed to be Salazar Slytherin. “Want to bet it’s hiding over there?” 

“Only one way to find out.” 

Without further ado they walked up to the gigantic head were the ground was, thankfully, mostly intact. 

Harry visibly steeled himself before he began to hiss something in the snake language. And then nothing happened. 

After waiting for a minute in tense silence only broken by the low echo of dripping water Angelina asked. “Is something supposed to happen?” 

“It had worked so far.” 

“Well, what did you say?” 

Harry shrugged. “The same thing I have said every time we wanted to get through a new door. ‘Open’.” 

Fred gave an exasperated sigh. “Our informant suggested we say, ‘Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four’.” 

“Why did you not say so?” 

“Well, we thought he was pulling our legs.” 

“It seemed a bit pretentious.” 

“And we thought –” 

“– surely not even Slytherin would choose a password that ostentatious. Just imagine the ego you’d have to possess to choose _that_?” 

“But then again, it’s not like anyone could _actually_ guess it.” 

George nodded. “I mean, how would someone have figured that out without help?” Which, seriously Tom? Did he just stand before the statue blurting random phrases until it worked? How long would it have taken before he came up with something that absurd? 

…Although it _was_ Tom. Maybe the idea was not so outlandish after all. 

(Frankly, the bigger question was how the boy who’s supposed ‘memories’ were stored in the diary got down here to begin with. Hissing at random sinks and jumping down black holes was something he could see himself or Fred do. Tom? Not so much) 

“If you think of it that way, a password like that is actually quite brilliant,” Fred mused. George would have answered, but Angelina shot a silencing charm at him, then Fred, so. 

“It’s worth a try,” Harry said. 

As soon as Harry’s hissing ceased, the mouth of the wizard opened (still arguing for it being a monkey). When George heard a slithering sound, he immediately closed his eyes and readied his assigned rooster. 

Harry began to hiss. When an answering rumble that he supposed was what a 50 feet snake sounded like when hissing sounded George had to try really hard not to make any undignified sounds. Great. This was splendid. 

Harry hissed something back, and then everything grew quiet. 

“…what’s happening?” Alicia whispered. “Harry, are you okay?” 

“Shh!” Harry said, the sound echoing in the cave. “He’s _thinking_. Just, give me a minute here.” 

“… _mm-hmm_.” 

And then the King of Serpents hissed once again. 

The following events were probably very impressive, but as it consisted of Harry conversing with a snake in Parseltongue for half an hour while the rest of them stood there with their eyes closed, George could not say either way. 

Somewhere in the middle of the hissed conversation George got a leg cramp. Grimacing, he sat down in the murky water that probably contain strange creatures of varying degrees of danger. Which he tried vehemently not to think about as he was effectively blind at the moment. 

Finally, it sounded like the snake moved back towards the statue – it was _touching_ him, _it was touching him_ , George thought hysterically as he felt smooth scales against his pants leg as the snakes slithered by. _Please don’t eat me, please don’t eat_ – oh thank Merlin. Okay, George was okay now. That was not so bad. 

“Is the basilisk gone or should we keep standing here with our eyes shut?” Simmons asked, sounding _way_ to tranquil in George’s opinion. 

“No, it’s gone. You can open your eyes.” 

“Well… that was underwhelming,” Fred said after blinking a couple of times to adjust to the lighting. 

George _supposed_ his brother had a point. At least considering the alternative. 

It had not been _that_ scary. 

After a beat of silence Cedric asked what everyone (sans Harry) were wondering. “So… what did it say?” 

George took his stance back. While he was also contemplating what Harry spent half an hour discussing with the basilisk, what he really wanted to know was what Harry was doings stroking the black snake draped over his shoulders. And where said snake had come from. Bad Cedric. 

“Remember that snake that got out during Duelling Club?” Harry asked. He looked a bit sheepish, while gesturing to the snake currently rubbing its snout against his chin. “I told him to flee since I thought Snape was going to kill him– ” 

“He wasn’t, you know. Professor Snape was just going to banish it – him – back to where he came from. Probably.” Cedric kindly interrupted (once again, _bad Cedric_. Stop interrupting, you earnest sap. It was explanation time) 

“Either way, I encouraged him to get out of the Hall and find some help. I know some of the Slytherins and the odd Hufflepuff has snakes as pets and I assumed this one would go to them for help. Obviously, he did not.” 

“Wait, so this entire time the basilisk has been trying to, what? Help the little snake by turning the residents of the school into statues?” George managed to ask, having finally removed the silencing charm (aha! He knew his desire to learn more wandless magic in order to curb Tom’s ego was a good idea). 

“Well, no. When this darling told him about a ‘speaker’ in the castle the King went up. I think he thought I was asking for assistance or something. It has been cleared up now, anyway, and the basilisk has gone back to sleep. He only wakens to protect the school from extreme threats or when one of the ‘Grand Speaker’s descendants’ attends school. The King has promised that there will be no more petrified students.” 

“Well, at least we got to see the Chamber of Secrets. Now, how about we return to the school proper. I don’t know about you, but I fancy a shower,” Angelina said. 

This sentiment was shared by everyone, it seemed, and they trudged back towards the exit. 

About fifty yards into the tunnel George finally remembered that they had _brooms_. After this, the group was advancing in a much timelier fashion, flying towards the exit. 

It was only once they reached Myrtle’s bathroom that Fred noticed the snake still curled around Harry. 

“You want me to banish the snake for you?” 

Taking in Harry’s appalled expression, George gathered the answer to that question would be an emphatic _no_. Cradling the not so small snake to his chest, Harry proved George right by saying, “No thank you. I believe I might keep him for a while. He is very funny, you know. Great sense of humour.” 

Fred gave him a dubious look. George could understand the sentiment. After all, Harry had been very disturbed by the rumours of him being a dark wizard and he doubted that good humour was the only reason behind Harry’s willingness to fan the flames. 

In a whisper only herd by George and Fred Harry continued, “And he said he’d help with the Dursleys. After the stunt with the flying car a little extra protection would help a lot.” 

George felt his hart sink and wished they could do more for the boy. For now, he had to settle with giving Harry a sideway hug (staying clear of the snake on the small boy’s shoulder. It was indeed an Australian Red-bellied black snake. It was a wonder it had survived down in the chamber this long. _Magic_ , he supposed). 

oooOOooo 

The morning after George and company went down to confront the basilisk, he woke up feeling accomplished. Granted, George was also exhausted, as they had arrived back at the common room at four AM, and so that feeling of accomplishment was sort of overshadowed by his general bone-tiredness. Picking a Wednesday to spend creping through the drains in the middle of the night was somewhat of a miscalculation. But that was what you had Invigoration Draughts for! 

It was only when he and Fred were about to exit the common room to get breakfast that it struck him. He realised that while no more petrification’s would occur, no one except them actually _knew_ this. 

Case in point: as soon as they went through the Fat Lady’s portrait, they were ushered over to a group of other late risers who were about to be escorted to the great hall by some Aurors. Because there were still guards stationed around the school. 

Now, how to inform the rest of Hogwarts that the halls were once again safe (or as safe as they could ever be with magic wielding children running around) to travel? 

Well, that was easier said than done. Telling people about the snake hidden under the castle presented the same problem as before. 

Framing someone else was always an option – the most logical, really – but that would not do. It just wasn’t their style. 

Or George and Fred could always take on the blame themselves, he supposed. They had even found a way to put people into a state similar to the one induced by meeting the reflection of a basilisk’s eyes. That is, it would have been a great idea, had it not meant that they would also be thrown out of school. 

Still, the authorities would want _someone_ to take the blame. With _twenty-five_ students currently petrified the ministry (and the school) would look mightily silly if they could not find the one responsible. He doubted they would drop everything and leave the school when no more victims turned up. Worst case scenario the ministry might go and find themselves a scapegoat of their own (at least if Tom was to be believed. The diary-boy had some… _issues_ with the British Ministry of Magic). 

When neither George nor Fred had come up with a way to solve the predicament at the end of the day, they turned to Lee. 

And loo and behold, Lee _did_ , in fact,have an idea. Or more accurately, Lee had an idea of who to ask for a solution to their problem. 

The Fat Lady was a master of misdirection, and George was pretty sure Madam Black had been a follower of the Dark Lady Avarice the Wicked, so those two probably knew a thing or two about circumventing, or outright breaking, the law without getting caught. Surely the portraits would be able to help the twins come up with a plan (George often found himself contemplating just _who_ was in charge of choosing the portraits adorning the school. He had come across _so many_ shady figures that it wasn’t even funny anymore – well, it was actually quite funny, in an alarming sort of way. But seriously, did someone go ‘Yes; let us put renegade rebels and revolutionary inclined mischief-makers amongst the impressionable minds of Hogwarts!’ and then _no one_ questioned them?). 

Now, George and Fred would not be able to ask the Fat Lady for help as, you know, there were Aurors stationed outside the door. Holding a secret discussion in front of the very people they wanted to fool would make the _secret_ aspect of the exchangerather redundant. 

Instead the twins went to Atria Back’s corridor. 

Were they were quite forcefully informed to blame everything on Lockhart. Which… well. While the Great Professor might also hold the title of Most Useless DADA Professor Yet, that did not automatically mean the wizard deserved to be sent to Azkaban. Well, considering that no one had actually been hurt he might get away with a steep fine. But as a bestselling author whose books had been translated into forty-eight languages (and counting) something told George that Lockhart would not be overly strained by that punishment. 

Thirty minutes later Madam Black (who held a deep aversion towards Lockhart, although why this was never came up) had managed to convince them that framing their Defence Professor was the best course of action. 

This would need planning, of course (yay – _more_ planning), to make sure that Professor Lockhart came out of it without too much issue. George did not think his conscience could take anything else. 

oooOOooo 

The day before their last quidditch match of the year something terrible occurred, leading to something even worse and much more terrifying happening as a consequence. 

It was the end of the third week of May, and Lee ( _accidentally_ ) swallowed one of the twins’ experimental candies and promptly lost his voice. He _lost his voice_ right before a quidditch match. 

Guess who had been feeling overly bored and decided that being a commentator would be a great way to break up the monotony. 

Well, George did not mind overly much, and did in fact find the situation entertaining. A sentiment he was sure he shared with everyone else (except Fred, that is). 

Elestren Parkinson, being an avid fan of the sport, was well informed and thus a good choice for the position. She was not even half bad at commentating. That is to say, she was almost as good as Lee. 

In other words, biased to a fault, but George found himself not minding overly much. As previously stated, _entertaining_. 

“Chaser Spinnet snags the Quaffle right out of Lutyens’ hands speeding off towards the Ravenclaw goal posts, Davies and Stretton hot on her heals! _Ohhhh_ – that looks like it hurt. A _dreadful_ attempt at a save by Beater Tweedledum leaves Spinnet with what appears to be a concussion and Davies in possession!” 

“Bludger redirected swiftly by the Preferable Weasley and Johnson has the Quaffle! Ravenclaw’s Lutyens takes it back and is heading for the goals! Dum-Dum about to intersect! No! _Dear Merlin_ , the tosser manages to hit himself in the face with his own bat like the nitwit he is– sorry Professor McGonagall. It was a very dazzling swing, very pleasing to look at. See, I can do compliments– Lutyens throws the Quaffle… which is saved by Wood!” 

“Seems like Weasley the Face Smasher is having some difficulties today, once again failing to connect with the Bludger! Ravenclaw takes back the Quaffle – No, Professor McGonagall. I am just waving around my wand to show some quidditch spirit. Yes, yes, putting it right back into the holster – A _nice_ save made by Gryffindor Keeper, Wood!” 

“And Gryffindor scores! The tally is now 50-30, in Gryffindor’s favour, the lions are still in the lead!” 

“Bell has the Quaffle and is heading upwards, Chasers Stretton and Lutyens following close behind! Oh – Bell drops the Quaffle! And it is swooped up by Spinnet flying bellow! A masterful execution of the Porskoff Ploy! Spinnet, obviously having recovered from the unfortunate head shot, is going for the goals! Aaaaaaand Gryffindor _scores_ ! We’re now up at 120-90! Tweedledum evading a Bludger, ahh, only to fly into the shaft of Bell’s broom! Looking a little woozy there, Dum-Dum! Salazar, the idiot is tipping off his broom! Is he going to fall!? Oh, drat it. Weasley saved by Bell taking hold of his shirt, sadly no fall– Apologies, Professor. No commentary on how funny it would be if he’d plummeted, _of course not_.” 

“Potter has spotted the Snitch! The Seekers are winding their way through the other players towards the middle of the field! And there it is, right by Weasley Who Can’t Even Fly a Broom’s ear! Seekers closing in… and Potter’s got the Snitch! Gryffindor wins, 260-140!” 

oooOOooo 

Fred was sitting in a corner of the common room finishing up his brother’s Charms work on a couple of singing books. Gospel this time. 

(And he was in _perfect_ health, thank you very much. Madam Pomfrey was amazing and would people please stop bringing up _that_ match?) 

It seemed that by ‘accepting’ the help from a(n evil) Slytherin that held connections to the ministry the application time to register a business was much shorter than usual (especially as their application had, apparently, been there since _Christmas_ ). Now he and George had The Harpy taking care of the administration for five percent of the profit, while they did all the casting and inventing. 

Fred had tried to object to the arrangement in the beginning, but it seemed that his voice went unheard. Well, maybe more like heard but then ignored, George maintaining that he was being ‘silly’ or some rot. Whatever. But since there was nothing out of the ordinary with the contract (they had Bill check) Fred could not be bothered to care. 

So, here he was; finishing up the last touches since George had run off to Merlin knew where. 

Fred was placing the second to last book on the table next to him when George entered through the portrait hole looking exceedingly pleased with himself and carrying a thick tome. Before heading over, George dropped something down in Harry’s lap, winking in thanks. 

“What’s got you looking all smug, brother dearest?” 

“Snagged this from Professor Snape’s private quarters– ” 

“You did _what_?” 

“Don’t worry, I went in and out at the same time as Snape, so I didn’t end up triggering any alarms. It was a monotonous wait, of course, but it was totally worth it.” George sank down in a chair next to Fred and started leafing through his price. “I’m not going to keep it. I’m going to copy down a ritual I’ve been searching for and then I’ll return it.” 

“So, a book on rituals then?” 

“Yes, as there was nothing even in the Restricted Section on anything close to what we’re searching for – and believe me, I’ve been looking for months – the next best thing was to see if Snape had anything. He is just the kind of person who would have something like this. Rituals go hand in hand with potions, after all.” 

“So, you decided to raid his private library,” Fred commented drily. Moving closer to his brother he leant over to read the pilfered book, only to do a double take once he registered what he was reading. “Wait, is this written in _Ancient Greek_? Merlin’s beard, _it is_!” 

“I’ll translate it. It will take a week, tops. Both runes and incantation will be the same, after all. It is only the instructions for the preparations that we need.” 

“Well, what is it supposed to do?” 

“It will tell us what we want to know.” 

“That is the vaguest answer I have ever heard, George. _How_ will this ritual let us know something?” 

“I think that a clay figure, or maybe a wood figure – it is somewhat unclear – will be created and this thing will then answer a couple of questions. Most likely. It is supposed to give very detailed and truthful answers, in any case. Does it really matter how we get the answers?” 

“The answers to what – is this about finding out the truth about the diary? Are you really sure this is the best idea? Is it even safe?” Fred asked with a frown. He was not afraid of danger, certainly. Not to mention that he was a quidditch player, which showed a distinct lack of self-preservation according to Tom. But to play all willy-nilly with the kind of magic his brother was talking about was beyond even his (supposed) folly. 

“Yes, totally safe.” 

Fred felt highly sceptical of that declaration. “ _Really_?” 

“O ye, of little fate. When was the last time one of my translated spells or rituals misfired?” 

Fred gave him a deadpan look. “A week ago.” 

“Well, _before_ that.” 

Here Fred had to concede. “A year ago.” 

“See, it’ll be _fine_. Think positive. This ritual is supposed to ‘reveal that which is hidden’, perfect for our little Tommy issue. I am going up to our dorm to get my dictionary and I’ll get started on this immediately.” While going up the stairs Fred heard his twin muttering to himself. “Or maybe it is ‘ _summon_ that which is hidden, no, no, definitely reveal. I think.” 

Such words of reassurance. 

oooOOooo 

Tom had come to a startling realisation. 

The original soul had, like the absolute bastard he was, been pulling on _Tom’s_ magic through the link still connecting their souls. The parasitic entity that had created him, only to leave him to go insane, now had the _audacity_ to steal from him. 

And so, Tom had been debating what to do. Should he cut the string and be rid of the leech, or leave it be? The first option would revoke his near immortality but also allow him to gain strength and rid himself of his current prison. The other option would leave him indestructible, but also stuck as a damn _book_ for eternity. Moreover, letting the link remain would mean Tom allowed that _thing_ to use him. And that just would not do. 

In the end, Tom was pretty sure immortality was overrated anyway. _Tom_ had certainly not gained anything from it. 

It would not be hard to remove the thing connecting him to the magic-thief. It would not even require a spell. An ordered mind and a good grasp of the Mind Arts would be plenty enough. Tom would only have to find the connection and use raw magic to cut it in half. 

Which was exactly what he did. 

Tom was just _that_ brilliant. 

Of course, after cutting himself off from the original soul he was no longer a horcrux (technically), which meant he had no obligation whatsoever to follow anything the original had intended. 

Now, it was about time to get out of this cursed imprisonment. 

Having absorbed parts of the twins’ souls he had come to find his own soul intact enough to be able to heal the last cracks on its own. As long as he did not go on any murdering sprees, that was (which was pretty unlikely, what with him having developed _morals_ … horrid, nasty little thigs that they were). With a near stable soul he would finally be able to regain a body without it withering away. Or more accurately, acquire a _new_ body, Tom supposed. 

Either way, he would need to gain temporary form in order to gather information, as the original’s plan was to suck the lifeforce out of the diary holder. Which he could not do because _morals_ ( _so bloody inconvenient_ ). 

There were alternatives. There must be mass murderers and terrorists still running around. He could just kidnap one of those and use their life force instead. Surely his soul would survive killing _one_ person. And the morals would be fine if it was a _bad_ one, right? 

But to do this he would, as stated, need to be _somewhat_ corporeal, enough to find a person his stupid morals would not fly into a tizzy over. 

Gaining an insubstantial form would be easy with the magic he had saved up (he knew not wasting time on possessing others was a good idea). He only needed to wait for the next full moon. Which should be in six days, on June 4th to be exact. 

In less than a week, Tom would be free. 

oooOOooo 

Fred was currently trying to turn his pigeon into a hedgehog, as the Transfiguration lesson drew to a close. 

He thought he might have turned some of the feathers into tiny spikes, when George passed him a note. 

_Translation for ‘Ritual of Truth’ done, got ingredients this morning, ready for 4 th during full moon. _

Once Fred reached the last word, the note spontaneously burst into flames and was almost instantly incinerated, leaving only some ashes in its wake. Fred raised an eyebrow at his brother’s dramatics before continuing with his task. 

Performing a ritual with close to no preparation was inadvisable. It was like asking for mishaps and injuries. But while it might be reckless, they had done similar things before. As long as the objective of the ritual was somewhat benign, or at least not harmful, the repercussions of a failed ritual were not that dire. Add to that the fact that finding out the truth of a spell on some diary was no big task, next to that of, say, raising an army of the dead, there would not be any great backlash if they, against all odds, failed. 

Because they had never actually failed when performing a ritual since they were thirteen Fred was not overly worried. Honestly, the only failed ritual they had performed was when they tried to _change_ the runes making up the matrix and thus its effect instead of following the instructions. So really, he saw no reason to object further to this rather hasty set up. 

It would be nice to find out the secret behind the diary. 

While George ran off to perform some last-minute errands after the class, Fred decided to see if he could find out anything new about Tom Riddle. Apparently, the boy had been part of the notorious Slug Club (awful name, truly. He had no idea why someone would want to write about it in the papers, but apparently reporters came to their parties). Fred was pleasantly surprised when he stumbled over a news clipping from one of the so-called soirees. It depicted a group of teens from the forties blinking up from the page (with that usual aura the Pureblood aristocracy had. The one that screamed ‘posh’ and ‘old money’ and ‘why yes, I _can_ trace my family tree back a millennium and there is not a single drop of muggle blood in the mix’). But the thing that had caught his eye was the caption bellow the picture, saying that the third boy from the right just happened to be one Tom Marvolo Riddle. Dark hair combed to perfection, high cheekbones in a deceptively angelic face (Fred new what that meant, George had told him about Muggle religon – or was it relegion?). All in all, he appeared dignified, if somewhat haughty. Which, yes, did fit the Tom they knew. 

It was nice to put a face to the person that created the book they now thought of as a friend. And who new, in two days they might actually find out what the diary was. 

oooOOooo 

George would have liked to hold the ritual inside, but with Aurors roaming around the castle that was no longer an option. Instead they would make use of one of the abandoned courtyards. 

So, George jumped out of the dormitory window (their other roommates had stopped questioning them exiting the school by way of windows a long time ago). 

It did not take much time to arrive at one’s destination when one travelled by flying carpet (flying carpets could be lovely, even the obstinate ones). The courtyard was about the size of four classrooms, although it appeared much smaller due to the ancient trees growing there. At least it was far from all the common rooms and professors’ quarters, so he did not have to fear interruption. As soon as he landed, he went over to the biggest grove where the things they would need for the ritual were hidden. 

George began to prepare the site while he waited for Fred to arrive, as his brother was fetching the last… ingredient. Using a branch picked up from the ground George began to draw out the shape of the runic circle in the middle of the clearing. He could see the pattern he had to draw clearly in his mind and made sure to putt every line, curved and straight, in the right place. When he was satisfied with the design, he started to place quartz stones in specific formations along the circle’s edge. Lastly, he added the candles around the clearing and on the important points inside the matrix. 

oooOOooo 

George was placing a candle inside a runic circle when Fred entered the courtyard from the hidden entrance. Fred made his way over to his twin, holding the cage he was carrying close to his chest. 

“Did you transfigure a lookalike?” George asked him when he was close enough. 

“Yes, of course. It was fun work. Or, well, it would have been fun work during other circumstances… are you absolutely _sure_ we need Scabbers for this?” Fred asked while motioning towards the rat sleeping in the cage. 

“Yes. We need a beloved but small pet for this to work. And I thought you hated the rat?” 

“Well, yes. It just feels off, using a sacrifice. I don’t even know why.” And he didn’t. It was his family’s pet, true, but as George pointed out; Fred never _had_ liked the rat. Besides, they had gotten Ron a substitute so their brother would not feel sad. For that matter, they used animals in Transfiguration andPotions class all the time. This was not something new. He _should_ feel fine. So why did this leave Fred feeling so uncomfortable? 

“Well, it would have felt worse to steal some other poor kid’s pet. At least we are using family property. And we need to follow the instructions. Remember the man I told you about that was mentioned as an example in Snape’s book?” 

“The one who sacrificed his favourite abraxan to find out where his son had gone after eloping, but barely managed to get a question out before he got mauled by the ‘figure’ created?” 

“That’s the one. His sacrifice was both too important to the family and way to magically powerful to use in this. Not to talk about how big those winged horses are. Honestly, it clearly says ‘no beloved, magically powerful or big beings are to be used’. It’s not _that_ hard to follow.” 

“And yet, you think this is a good idea.” 

“It is a delicate balance, I will admit. The sacrifice has to be important enough to be used as a bargaining ship, but not _to_ important. But Scabbers is perfect for this! I have checked all the variables.” 

“You mean you had _me_ calculate all the variables. Or, at least the obvious ones.” Fred did not comment on how rushed this was, though. That he had not had nearly enough time to check, not to mention _double check_ the aforementioned variables, like he had wanted to. They both knew this all too well already. 

But they had to do it now. By the next full moon, they would be back home, and they would never get away with something like this there. No way was he willing to wait four months, until school began again, before the next chance. It was basically now or never. 

“It will be midnight in twenty minutes, we should get ready” 

And so, they do. Placing the diary in the middle of the array, lighting the candles. And when the clock hits twelve, they started to chant (in ancient Greek, so not an enjoyable past time). Fred let George take care of Scabbers (Fred being way more squeamish, it was quite enough that he had to cut his finger to squeeze out a couple of drops of his own blood for this, thank you very much ) until blood was pooling around the book, soaking into the pages. 

oooOOooo 

Tom was sitting crossed legged (or whatever it is called when a soul piece stuck in a diary world was imagining sitting in his mind space. It is easier to simply say _sit_ ) in the middle of something that could be called a ritualistic circle. 

As soon as the moon reached its zenith, he would be ready to begin. 

Ah, there it was. 

He could feel the ambient magic surrounding him begin to move sluggishly as it was affected by whatever power the moon exercised on the earth (that entire branch of magic was pretty vague). 

Tom centred his will, focusing his power on the runes drawn in white chalk on the imagined stone floor and guided it into the shape needed for his purpose. 

He was to become semi substantial. 

This was the hard part, but once he had obtained this state once, he should theoretically be able to do so as many times as needed. As long has he had sufficiently enough magic for the endeavour, of course. Which he now had, since he was no longer connected to the parasitic entity that had once created him. Maybe he should change his name? Tom felt his concentration wobble and decided that _that_ was a topic for another time. One where he was not practising extremely volatile magic. 

That was when he felt _another_ source of magic join his own, but this one with an entirely different purpose. 

During the shortest moment Tom wondered just who decided to hold a ritual utilizing enough magic Tom might suspect the involvement of human sacrifice _right next to his diary_.Then he got distracted by the absurd amount of power currently circling around him turning erratic, merging with his own magic and moving around as if it had gained a mind of its own. 

And then everything went up in literal flames. 

oooOOooo 

Fred watched uneasily as the candle flames grew, reaching high into the night sky, while a centralized breeze began to circle around the clearing. But still, he continued chanting, even as the breeze turned into a small whirlwind. 

Neither he nor George said anything, but it felt like this was a _tad_ more powerful than it was supposed to be. But he kept calm (freaking out or stopping was _always_ the worst thing to do during a ritual, even if one suspected something had gone wrong). 

Fred was cool as a fricking cucumber. 

Until the earth around the diary burst into flames, that was. 

Fred turned to his twin and raised his brow, silently pointing out that ‘ _this was not what was supposed to happen_ ’ while he rigidly continued to chant. Everything in the circle suddenly began to move towards the centre, as if pulled by tiny strings. The quarts, the candles and even the dirt between the lines inched forward, faster and faster and _faster_. 

Until the middle of the circle was now nothing but a swirling hurricane of fire and stone. The entire clearing was ablaze with light, and Fred had to plant his feet more securely on the ground as the wind intensified. Fred felt his brow creep higher, because; _This was not supposed to happen_. 

Fred intoned the last word of the chant. 

And abruptly, everything was _fire_. 

The light that erupted from the circle centre was so bright he had to close his eyes. 

Merlin, the _diary_. 

Fred felt his stomach drop, because what if they had just _killed Tom_. 

With a burst of determination, Fred managed to pry his eyes open, only to be met by an extremely peculiar sight. 

In the middle of their circle now stood a boy. One that looked disturbingly similar to the Tom Marvolo Riddle he had found pictures of. 

This might turn out to be a slight problem. Just a hunch, really. 


	6. Chapter 6

Fred stared at the boy who had materialised inside the runic circle. 

The boy who looked a little too much like Tom Riddle for Fred’s comfort. Same face and cheekbones. Same piercing eyes. 

Yes, similar, but he was not an _exact_ lookalike. His hair was lighter, for one. It was not dissimilar to the shade of copper in the full moon light. And then, there were the _freckles_ , covering his face and continuing down his body. Fred was decidedly sure that the Tom on the photo did _not_ have those. 

… Maybe he should offer the boy a robe? This was not a clay figure, and it– _he_ , would most likely want something to cover up with. 

It is a bit weird what the brain focuses on when you are close to having a nervous breakdown. 

The boy was staring at them uncomprehendingly. Glancing down at his freckled arm, and then looking up again. Standing there gaping like a fish. 

Yes, Fred should definitely offer him some clothes. It is spring, true, but this is Scotland we are talking about and there was a none to gentle breeze at the moment. Ah, well, too late. George had already shrugged of his own school robe and thrown it towards the circle centre where it hit the boy in the head. Not that he reacted much. The boy simply held the fabric up to his face and blinked. 

Fred slowly made his way over to his brother and whispered, “What is this?” 

“I’m not entirely sure.” 

“Well, it was _your_ ritual!” 

“Shh!” George glanced at the boy, now clothed. “Maybe we got a very authentic clay figure?” he said sheepishly. 

“Har, bloody, har,” Fred deadpanned. He raised his voice, going on a hunch: “Tom?” And then promptly cringed at himself. The boy who might be Tom (or might be a clay figure there to answer their questions) locked his gaze on them. 

“…Yes.” 

Well. 

Merlin’s saggy balls, what had they _done_? Had they just performed necromancy? What if they had created some type of Frankenstein’s monster… thing (he was on his third muggle book for Christmas now. Just a side note) with their botched ritual? Or had they done something good, like a walking Sorting Hat? 

He _knew_ this was a bad idea (that he had gone along with willingly, and without much persuasion needed, but still). 

Boy-That-Might-Be-Tom looked down at the now botched ritual circle, studying the few shapes that were still somewhat intact. “I take it this was not what you meant to do,” he remarked flatly, before he pointed at one of the runes. “Trying to find out a secret, were you?” 

oooOOooo 

George is ready to admit that, maybe, just maybe, he screwed up. A teeny tiny little bit. 

But after having spent literal months getting acquainted with his own magic while meditating and practising wandless magic, he is aware enough to know that not _all_ of this is on him. There was another person’s magic in addition to his and Fred’s that was trying to accomplish _something_. 

“Well, you know what we tried to do. It’s only fair you tell us why you were performing some powerful magic yourself. What was it that you wanted to accomplish tonight?” 

“It was not this, I can tell you that much.” 

The twins waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. George sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” (at the moment, at least.) “You are Tom, right? The… thing from the diary.” And he says thing, because he was starting to suspect there was _way more_ to the fabricated story than he had thought. George has never heard of memories having magic and being able to do… this. Whatever _this_ was. 

“How I adore being referred to as _‘the thing’_ , but yes. My name is Tom,” The-Boy-That-Is-Most-Probably-Their-Tom said sarcastically. “Who else would I be?” 

“A very realistic clay figure brought to life by some mad scientists,” Fred proposed. 

Tom appeared, if possible, even more done with the situation than he was before. At least he seemed to have regained enough brain capacity to do more than staring into space and gaping. “… Sure. Fred and George, I presume.” He peered at them with squinted eyes. “Weasleys, are you?” 

The curse of the ginger hair strikes again. George would like for someone, sometime, not to immediately assuming he is a Weasley. It is correct, of course, but still. 

(Merlin, but this entire conversation felt rather surreal. Maybe George was suffering from sleep deprivation) 

“If you don’t want to be called a thing, you could always tell us what you are.” 

“I already told you, I was created by an experiment gone– ” 

“Yes, so you have, indeed, said. And it’s utter nonsense, obviously.” 

Tom seemed to be undergoing an inner struggle. 

Although it was starting to look as if Mr Evasive Manoeuvre was contemplating giving them a straight answer (or you know, straight for Tom, anyway). Which was out of character for Tom, one had to admit. Granted, there was a perfectly good reason for this, George supposed. After all, they had just performed a rather powerful ritual that is supposed to grant answers. In the end George would not be surprised if some of that intent had carried over into whatever in Morgana’s name they had actually managed to do. 

No, the person (?) who was most astonished by the following event was, from the look on his face, Tom himself. 

“It was an experiment gone wrong. But as it concerned soul magic, you will understand that the repercussions were a bit worse than they normally might be.” 

( _see_ Fred, the ritual worked… sort of) 

Well, George did understand. It was a strikingly common subject in muggle literature (not to mention the time he lurked around in Snape’s library or the Restricted Section). An accidental soul jar would explain a lot, come to think of it. And on the subject of soul jars, “So, exactly _how_ crazy are you right this moment?” 

“Are you asking him to rate himself? What, please rate your craziness from one to ten?” 

“Why not? He’d know the best, wouldn’t he?” 

“If he had been driven insane by splitting his soul, I’m pretty sure he’d lack self-awareness.” 

“Then how do you propose we determine his saneness?” 

“I hardly think _we_ are fit toevaluate if someone’s mentally sound.” 

“I suppose– ” 

“ _Excuse me_?” 

Poor Tom, he appeared a bit flabbergasted. It was hard to tell if it was their mode of conversation or because they understood his ‘ _cryptic_ ’ answer that had him nonplussed (George did not actually know how to read the boy yet, seeing as he had been judging Tom’s varying moods on the scale of snarkily-benevolent to will-be-threatening-you-with-bodilly-harm-in-the-near-future-if-you-don’t-shut-up-this-instant by studying his penmanship) “You have heard of soul jars?” Oh, well. Amazement at their astoundingly well-rounded knowledge it was, then. 

“If even muggles have heard of them, they can’t actually be considered mysterious, can they? I mean, _The Lord of the Rings_? No? Well… _The Picture of Dorian Gray_?” From Tom’s expression that would be a _no_ too, then. 

“Well, to be fair, not that many wizards or witches read those.” 

“If pureblood Parkinson reads them, clearly some are.” 

Fred looked aghast. “We are not using _her_ as some kind of generalised standard.” 

Tom cleared his throat. “As entertaining as this is,” well that was a blatant lie, Tom would have to work on his poker-face. George supposed he could cut him some slack, spending fifty years as a book probably did not offer many opportunities to polish ones acting skills. “Maybe we could discuss how to proceed?” 

… _Wait_. Didn’t you have to _kill_ someone to make a soul jar? “No. Tom?” 

“What?” 

“Did you murder someone?” 

Lo and behold, not even Tom Riddle could manage to look dignified whit his jaw dropped. “…I suppose that would be how I was created, yes. That is how these things usually goes. I do not remember anything of that nature personally, though. The one who created me did not exactly take the time to inform me just how I was created.” 

Well, George supposed that was proof of him and Fred having somewhat succeeded with the ritual, at least. He doubted that _that_ was something Tom would share willingly. Truth spell for the win, he supposed. 

Dear, but George was sort of astounded by how well he was coping with this. Like, wow. He was conversing and everything. 

oooOOooo 

Having a body was… odd. 

When thinking about procuring a body, he had forgotten to factor in that suddenly going from what could essentially be called a thinking book to an actual person was not an easy transformation. Having suddenly obtained flesh and blood and everything in between therefore came as something as a shock. It was a sudden rush of emotions a thousand times stronger than he could ever remember feeling, hormones coursing through his body and all his nerves going haywire as his brain were trying to take in all his new senses at the same time. 

Everything was too much: the wind blowing through the trees and the chattering coming from beside him close to deafening; the smell of smoke and soil and growing things overpowering; the light from the moon shining down through the clouds blinding; the feeling of air moving around him and the grain under his feet prickling… it just never ended. 

Getting acquainted with frigid cold was not something Tom enjoyed (at least he now understood the Original’s ramblings about the weather). 

It should come as no surprise, then, that those first moments of his new existence Tom was preoccupied with staying conscious. 

Therefore, Tom felt he could be excused for not noticing that he was under the influence of a truth telling compulsion sooner. 

Tom felt hard pressed to even muster up some irritation over the fact, especially as it broke as soon as he exited the runic circle. He could think about having revealed potentially damning facts later, preferably once he was no longer under the risk of blacking out (somehow the experience of not being stuck as a book lost some of its charm). 

This being the case, Tom was in no state of mind to make any plans concerning his future beyond ‘avoid detection for the next couple of hours’. Even this was a bit taxing. 

Tom did manage to compose himself somewhat, though, after a while, once the barrage of impressions began to process. 

So, in order to avoid any encounters with the ministry lackeys or Dumbledore and his cronies Tom decided to spend some quality time in the Room of Hidden Things (…and there went yet another of his secret hideaways). It would give him some time to consider his options. The best plans were, after all, never made lightly. Well, mostly. Tom had enough self-awareness to admit that his impulse control was not the best. Not that you needed to have impulse control if you never got caught. And Tom never got caught. 

This was a special case, however, and as such he would make sure to plan accordingly. 

He was going to have to invent an entirely new identity, after all. 

oooOOooo 

It was surprisingly easy to set up a place for their new guest to stay, even in a school patrolled by Aurors, prefects and professors alike. 

George simply went down to the kitchen, asked the house elves for enough food to last Tom a couple of days and a blanket, no questions asked. 

Then they went to the place Tom referred to as the Room of Hidden Things (George thought it resembled a landfill but kept this observation to himself for the sake of the peace). With some help from George and Fred, Tom found a total of three robes that fit the boy near perfectly, a pair of shoes, a bed, some books to read… etc. Using an absurd amount of _Point Me_ spells, certainly, but it was an effective strategy (and a tiring one, as Tom did not possess a wand as of yet. While the boy was proficient in wandless magic, George knew since months back that this prowess was more combat orientated or centred around the Mind Arts). 

After getting Tom settled in, the twins left with a promise to be back in three days with some new food (and you know, figure out what in the name of Merlin he and Fred would do with the soul jar they had unleashed on the unsuspecting world). 

George and Fred were almost at the door when the room suddenly filled with an angered scream. 

“ _What have you done to me?!_ ” 

Well, Tom was bound to discover the freckles sometime (what did people have against freckles anyway. Or red hair for that matter. Frankly, Tom should count himself lucky having gained those dazzling additions to his good looks). 

oooOOooo 

When Fred woke the morning after having accidentally revived part of Tom Riddle’s soul, he felt beyond bone tired. 

Once again, he and his brother had gone on a midnight adventure in the middle of the week. This time they also had the unfortune of having magically depleted themselves, making everything that much more enjoyable. 

So, Fred blamed his absolute exhaustion for the mishap that occurred during that day’s potions lesson. With the skill of one operating on one hour of sleep he managed to knock over the cauldron of experimental shrinking solutions he had been brewing. Said brew somehow ended up in his twin’s cauldron, making for a rather spectacular explosion. 

Although this mishap was, as it turned out, not all bad. In addition to landing them two weeks of detention it also ended up being the breakthrough they had been waiting for. At last, they had managed to make a ( _relatively_ ) stable base for their Miniature You Candy (…they were still working on the name). It was not perfect. In addition to exploding during the mixing process, it also shrunk them until they were eight inches tall… ahem, short. Anyway. This was obviously a bit too small for it not to contain a bit too many risks (a.k.a. Professor Snape yelling – sorry, berating – them while they were not even a foot tall. It was bloody _terrifying_ , was what it was). 

All in all, they had a while to go before the candy was fit for sale. A process that had become a lot more tasking than before, since Richard Rowle, their lawyer (so fancy, but George and Parkinson – who then roped Bill into it as well – insisted on it being a Good Idea to have one. Not that Fred actually objected – it was more the principle of the thing. The principle being that it was Parkinson that had suggested it, thus it should not be adhered to) wanted everything written up for patents. Their products also had to be approved by the Most Extraordinaire Society of Potioneers. Which took more time, but also gave them credentials, so they would endure. 

Another positive consequence of shrinking to the size of a fork during potions lesson was that Professor Snape was obliged to turn them back to their normal hight. Thus, they got handed the recipe for making an antidote that could reverse their shrimpyness. Fred felt rather proud of his and George’s accomplishment, as it took an hour for Snape to reverse the effect. 

Until they got the potion commercialised, at least they had a new way of sneaking around the school undetected (as long as they stayed away from Mrs Norris. Them being just the right size for a midnight snack and all). With copious use of the Disillusionment Charm and spells to disguise smells (because, once again, _Mrs Norris_ ) paired with their new potion and the twins were near unstoppable. 

Then there was the matter with Tom. 

After some debate, Fred and George decided to let everything straighten itself out on its own. Because really, what were they even supposed to do about it? Tom was free of the diary, and since they could not reverse whatever they had done and put him back as a diary (and would not have, even if they could) nor had any actual way of controlling the boy there was nothing to do but let Tom live his life as he pleased. Besides, Tom was their _friend_. 

So, they decided to help him out in whatever manner they could. 

(Tom was pretty much harmless, anyway. Like, come on; the boy’s idea of revenge was to send passive aggressive notes) 

After learning of the Room of Hidden Things, they also had a new avenue of gaining resources for the sneaking around business. Sadly, they did not have nearly enough time to utilise this new treasure trove of hidden resources. Because they were, you know, hidden. There were an extreme number of useless things in the Room, which meant that it was near impossible to find something without a Point Me spell ( _do not_ use _Accio_ , the Summoning Charm causes unstoppable avalanches). Although for that to work one needed to know what they were looking for, which Fred did not. 

Which meant that more often than not, he and George would simply go around rummaging in random piles in the hopes of stumbling over something useful. This was not so bad and had actually proven to be somewhat fun. So far George had acquired another book on emotional casting, three old tomes on questionable uses of potion-ingredients as well as two ancient brooms. Fred was focusing more on old gadgets that the two of them might be able to enchant or following Tom around to discuss some new theory he had read about (he and George had benefited from the newfound alliance between _most_ ofthe Gryffindor and Slytherin quidditch teams – plus assorted friends – that had been established. For example, Adrian Pucey had a subscription to _Discoveries of Magic; Monthly_ , where newfound potions, charms and other spell-work from all over the world was published. Let’s just say that the Weasley twins could always be found sitting at the Slytherin table on the first Friday of every month). 

With some splendid teamwork, they managed to shrink their newfound brooms while still keeping them functional. As a result, Fred and George were now able to move around the castle easier than ever. 

oooOOooo 

With less than three weeks left of school, George finally found something to use against Professor Lockhart (not that it would really do much of a difference now. But at least they may have two weeks of no Aurors). 

However, it was not an entirely joyous occasion. No, George and Fred felt betrayed by the information the revelation had brought to light. 

~~The Great~~ Professor Lockhart was a giant fraud. 

Which was not actually a surprise. The man’s incompetence had been obvious since day one. But the twins had simply drawn the conclusion that the content of his books was entirely fictitious. Never had either of them even considered that Lockhart might have _Obliviated_ real people. _Real people_ , that had been the ones to accomplish the things the wizard wrote about. George would never claim the moral high ground, and neither would Fred, as both of them considered the law a bendable guideline that could be disregarded at one’s own discretion. But altering another person memories and takin undue credit was just _wrong_. The were some lines you just did not cross. 

This meant that neither twin felt any regret whatsoever about framing Lockhart for the petrification of the students. In fact, it was fortuitous that it was Lockhart they had decided to blame, as they now had a plausible reason for why the wizard committed the crime. So, they had motive, as well as opportunity. That only left the question of _means_. Because let’s be real, the odds of Lockhart being able to pull off the spells needed to petrify someone were slim to none. The magic was way beyond anything Professor Lockhart would manage on his own. 

After some consideration, they decided that it was entirely possible that the man ordered some potions that had the same effects as the stare of a basilisk. With some guidance from Tom, the Fat Lady and Madam Black, George realised they would be able to pull it off. 

First, they planted some fabricated evidence suggesting that the Professor could indeed have petrified the students, as well as a manuscript of his ‘new book’ detailing the battle with The Dark Wizard of Hogwarts. Second, they had found proof of Lockhart’s actual crimes; namely obliviating witches and wizards after milking them for their stories in order to portray himself as a hero. This was substantially harder to do, but after having volunteered to be his teaching assistants at the beginning of the year they had unknowingly picked up a lot of useful things. Lastly, they would have to fool the Aurors into thinking that _they_ had been the ones to uncover the professor’s Sinister Plan. Stroking their egos, as Tom put it. 

George felt satisfaction as he watched the events unfold. 

Two weeks before the school year was over Professor Lockhart was arrested under suspicions of harming the students of Hogwarts. Thus, no one holding a station of authority was any wiser when it came to the resident basilisk living in the bowels of the castles, which meant that the Aurors finally left the school premises. 

The mandrakes matured the next day, allowing Professor Snape to brew the Restorative Draught for the two dozen students that had effectively been turned to stone (who were now scheduled for summer classes, the poor buggers). With the help of his brightest students, of course, since the task was to big even for a renowned potioneer such as Snape (this involves: the seventh- and sixth-year NEWT students, as well as the _most_ talented fifth- and forth-years. Which happens to include George. To say that George did _the most_ of his short stint as helper – without harming the actual brew, of course – would be an understatement). 

That was also the week the school learned of Harry Potter’s pet snake (who was now going by the name of John). How no one had noticed anything before this was a real mystery, as the boy brought his snake with him to the common room hidden under his robes. George thought the shifting coils under the fabric were quite telling, but apparently not. This brought a return of the Harry-Is-A-Dark-And-Evil-Wizard-Hell-Bent-On-Murdering-Us-All rumours. It calmed down quickly though, what with the school learning about their DADA professor being arrested (and, once again, how the professors managed to keep that quiet was a mystery. Seriously). With other things to focus on, the residents of Hogwarts got used to Harry carrying around John, bringing him along to supper a couple of times or taking him into the common room (on the outside of his robes, now). 

Harry had even tried to teach him and Fred a couple of words in Parseltongue. 

Their studies were going awfully. They could, however, successfully hiss ‘ _come touch my wand_ ’ (Harry said that snakes liked the magic aura around wands and that the statement was entirely proper, but George was _not_ convinced. Either the boy was having them on, or his snake’s sense of humour laid on the suggestive side. At least they got Tom to laugh when they hissed that in greeting when visiting, which was always something). They could also perceive some of the different tones in the language. That is to say, they could distinguish between snake laugh and snake I-Am-Going-To-Bite-You-Now-If-You-Do-Not-Back-Of-This-Instant hiss. Useful, that one. 

And hey, they could go around hissing at people that annoyed them now. Rather convincingly, as that. 

oooOOooo 

George and Fred were walking along the corridors when Fred noticed a particular girl in Ravenclaw preform some kind of Transfiguration he swore was a tremendously impressive feat. Which led to him taking a closer look _which in turn_ led him to the enunciation that she was both the smartest and most beautiful girl in the entire school. 

George was not as happy with this recent development. 

Because as soon as his twin found this girl of ‘ _stunning beauty_ ’ his brain also seemed to have shut off. While George could admit that she was exceedingly pretty, that did not mean that he wanted to hear his brother talk about her _every hour_ of _every day_. If he had to sit through one more breakfast listening to Fred extol the girl’s ‘ _luscious onyx coloured hair_ ’ and ‘ _enchanting_ _ebony skin_ ’and‘ _perfectly formed feet_ ’, he might just dose his twin with _Veritaserum_ and lock the two up in a broom closet together. 

How come that _every time_ Fred got a crush, he turned into a useless idiot? 

Well, he supposed that was not fair. At least Fred was still able to focus on their projects, which was all George could really ask for. Every time they invented something new or had quidditch practise he seemed to go back to his own self again, which was a small mercy. But if Fred did not ask her out before school was out, he would have to find that closet… 

George finally managed to convince his brother that asking the Ravenclaw he was infatuated with out was the best plan of action. Either his brother would have a date for the last Hogsmeade trip, or the refusal would turn him back to normal. 

Both twins were going towards the Great Hall, were Fred had planned to ask his crush out. George was going along, mostly to watch the spectacle. It was probably a fifty-fifty chance of her accepting. Either way, if George new his twin right (which he did) Fred had thought out some extravagant way to get his question across. Not something George would want to miss. 

At the end of the stairs George almost tripped and had to stop. “You go ahead, I have to tie my shoelaces.” 

“See you in a bit, brother.” 

George hurriedly went down on one knee, hoping not to miss what would no doubt prove to be an entertaining display. When he got to his feet again, he abruptly felt someone take a hold of his arm and drag him in under the stairs outside of the Great Hall. 

“What– ” 

“Shhh!” hissed Emily Rookwood, now having let go of his arm. When George looked behind him, he was met by the sight of Adrian Pucey and Miles Bletchley from the Slytherin quidditch team, as well as Angelina and Alicia. All of them appeared to feel equal measures of trepidation. For what, he would very much like to know. 

Lowering his voice, George asked, “What are you all doing hiding under the stairs?” 

Emily gave an exasperated sigh. “I have it on good authority that we will, once again, be faced with an epic confrontation between Elestren and Fred. I have been trying to save those I could from the inevitable blow-up.” 

Before George had a chance to ask her to clarify, there was a familiar roar from inside the hall, coming closer to the doors, until his twin and Elestren Parkinson exited, eyes shooting daggers at each other. 

“I saw her first!” Parkinson declared angrily. 

“Oh? I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works,” Fred growled back. “You can’t call dibs on a person!” 

“And you shouldn’t interrupt when someone is obviously asking a person out, but that did not seem to stop you!” 

“You ripped the flowers out of my hands!” 

“You stamped on my chocolate!” 

“After you so rudely interrupted me while I was asking her out.” 

“I was only returning the favour; besides, she would obviously rather go out with me. I am _loads_ prettier than you.” 

“What makes you so sure she even likes girls?” 

“What makes you so sure she’s even into blokes?” Parkinson returned. “And did you have to raise your voice in there. You probably scared her off from going out with either of us now! And her spellcasting was so beautiful too...” 

When the quarrelling duo was out of sight Emily held up her hand in front of Bletchley. “Pay up,” she smirked. 

“That is not fair!” Bletchley exclaimed. “You knew it was going to turn out like this, didn’t you?” While saying this he reluctantly riffed around in his pockets, producing two galleons. George and Angelina shared an amused glance as they watched the event unfold in front of them while Pucey sighed in exasperation. 

“You were the one proposing a bet in the first place,” Emily said with a shrug, excepting the winnings from the boy, before turning to the Gryffindors and giving a jaunty wave. “Well, I’m off to collect some more winnings. Ta!” 

Bletchley grumbled under his breath and George had to hold back his laughter. 

“Slytherin friendships are so weird,” Alicia mumbled. 

“And what would you call _that_?” Bletchley asked, motioning to the corridor from where one could still catch the fading bickering from Fred and Parkinson. “They literally spend all their time screaming and chasing each other around. For _fun_.” 

“I don’t know. Maybe they enjoy being stuck to the ceiling?” 

“When did that happen?” Pucey asked with a somewhat horrified expression. 

“A week ago,” George sighed. 

“To each their own, I guess.” 

oooOOooo 

Tom was fitting the last of his newest spoils into the chest stood in front of him. With no wand to speak of paired with way too much free time he had learnt to perform three new spells wandlessly. He could now perform a _Point Me_ , _Reducio_ and _Evanesco_ , near flawlessly. The first one Tom learnt because it physically hurt him to rely on the twins to find things for him, the Shrinking Charm for packing the objects that were not magic-resistant and the Vanishing Charm in order to not drown in the useless things that kept on falling down on him while scavenging. With the new additions it was now close to enjoyable spending his time poking around the Room of Hidden Things. 

In the beginning he had been wandering aimlessly, only knowing that he was looking for valuable things he might be able to sell. When he stumbled upon the first piece of metal, he barely even realised what he had found. But when it struck him that the bracelet he held in his hand was in fact made out of Goblin-wrought silver he only barely held back from cackling like some story book villain (he was above such things). It was with that piece of metal cradled in his hand that a real plan finally began to take form. 

So, he started searching specifically for goblin made goods (while also pocketing other knickknacks for personal use. He had always been something of a _collector_ , after all). He found a couple of daggers, table were, lots of jewellery and even the odd armour. Sadly, he could not shrink them, as they were impervious to the spells, and not even he could manage an Undetectable Extension Charm without a wand. So here he stood, placing his finds into chests to join the other trunks he had packed over the last three weeks. 

Now, the only question was how to get them out of the school. 

While the Aurors were gone, prefects as well as teachers patrolled the corridors at night. Sneaking around without their notice had always been something he excelled at, true, but while lugging around contraband it was another story entirely. As he could neither shrink nor levitate (prolonged levitation without a wand would be beyond draining for his magical reserve) the chests traveling unseen became that much more difficult. And as already stated, he did not want to ask the twins for _more_ help. Tom was already in their debt, adding more to the tally was something he was loath to do. And so, the conundrum was how, then, to get the goblin-silver out without anyone noticing. 

That was when he remembered the pipes running throughout the school. As many of them were built to accommodate a giant basilisk, he felt reasonably assured he could transport his finds without lacking for space and as long as he did not get lost (which he would not) he would reach the Chamber. From there he could simply take the secret tunnel out into the Forbidden Forest that the basilisk normally used when he wanted to hunt bigger pray. 

He could not use the closest opening into the sewage system since it would not be able to accommodate any of the trunks, so he would have to enter by the boy’s loo on the sixth floor. Not the option he would have chosen had he any choice, though. All entrances except the one on the second floor resembled a labyrinth more than a transport network, so even if Tom does not go astray chances are the decent will take him hours. Especially with his cargo. But there was nothing for it. The risk of being found out was too great, therefore Tom steeled himself for trudging through the maze that was the pipes of Hogwarts. Ugh, he did not even want to think about having to haul eleven big chests filled with metal. 

In the end he decided to ask Fred to transfigure him a cart to make his endeavour more tolerable. 

Tom spent the following days pushing his cart loaded with chests through the pipes for hours on end and storing them beyond the opening to the forest. His clothes were filthy, and his arms and legs ached come evening; but he persisted. What a picture he must make. Tired and dishevelled, sneaking around like a looney. 

At least no one was there to see his indignity. 

When a little over a week of the Hogwarts school year remained, he had finally transferred all the trunks to the exit. The only things remaining was to get them off of Hogwarts grounds and finding somewhere to store them. 

Tom was considering the merits of simply stealing a house from some muggle. Someone rich but reclusive, perhaps. He knew from his former housemates (and the Original’s own experiences) that the government took little notice of crimes committed against muggles, if said crimes were done cleverly enough. Especially if done wandlessly. 

But that was fifty years ago, and Tom did not fancy getting himself incarcerated over something like this. He was not trading one prison for another. Although, chances were he could pull it off even if the laws had changed. Honestly, as much as Tom disliked muggles, he had to admit that many wizards were hardly better. If the government was anywhere close to as incompetent as they were in his day, he might not have to worry about discovery. 

It was decided, then. He would spend these coming days observing the homes and lives of potential… victims? Well, not really. Tom was not going to _hurt_ anyone… just convince some old person that he was their nephew or something. 

However, that still left the question of how he was supposed to _leave_ Hogwarts. It was close to impossible to get out through the forest, all the secret passages were either too small for his purposes or had caved in (thank you, Weasley twins, for showing him their _extremely_ interesting map) and the front gate was out of the question. 

He was contemplating the merits of sailing across the lake by boat when he heard a weird humming sound from the woods. Being the cautious person that he was, he obviously did not _rush_ out to investigate the sound. More like… soundlessly tread forward with speed. 

He was met by the sight of a blue… car. It must be? He had not actually _seen_ a car before except for in the Original’s memories but this looked close enough. 

The car was dented and looked to have been through quite an ordeal. It was also moving on its own which Tom, even not knowing all that much about cars, realised was wrong. But this was Hogwarts, so maybe someone had enchanted it. Although mixing magic and electronics was tremendously hard and took ages to complete, he could not imagine a student being able of that. Nor why it would have ended up in the Forbidden Forest. If one managed a feat such as this, surely one would look after it? 

Proceeding slowly and trying to look nonthreatening (as formerly stated, combining muggle technic with magic was hard and usually resulted in the object gaining a fair bit of _eccentrics_ , so, caution) Tom ambled nearer. 

He spent the next fifty something minutes conversing with the car, which was something truly special. As Tom did not speak ‘car’ it was a bit hard in the beginning, but in the end he was practically fluent. He had learnt a lot about life in the woods from the perspective of a car. And that he should be careful of trees able to move on their own, especially if they looked like willows. 

Somehow Tom and the car reached an accord and Tom got himself a ride out of the school (his charms even worked on formerly inanimate objects who were now sentient and powered by magic). The Ford Anglia (as he was told that it was in a circumspect way using much blinking and a bit of honking) had nothing better to do with its time. 

Hopefully Tom would manage to persuade it to stick around a little longer. But even if it did not, Tom decided to look up ways (both muggle and magical) to fix up the vehicle, as a sign of gratitude. 

He supposed that if it did stay around, actually learning how to drive might also be prudent. It was not a pressing matter, as the car assured him it knew how to drive itself. And fly. _And_ turn invisible. 

It was a mightily talented car. 

And so, Tom packed up the Ford Anglia (it had wizard space, thankfully, reducing the multiple trips he had been imagining – and dreading – to one) and took off, heading towards London. 

He would be back to meet with the twins before school let out, as he had become somewhat fond of the menaces. 

But that was for later. 

Now, he had some house acquiring to do. 

oooOOooo 

Neither twin new what to do when Harry asked what he was to do with a thankful House Elf that the boy had, apparently, freed while the school governors escorted the Aurors who arrested Lockhart. Harry said that the _thankfulness_ was beginning to be a little much. 

In the end they decided to ask Headmaster Dumbledore if the elf might be allowed to work at Hogwarts. It ended up being a wonderful suggestion, as Dobby (as he was called) left Harry mostly alone after that except for the times he visited the kitchen with John for snacks. Everyone (except Mr Malfoy) seemed happy with the arrangement. 

oooOOooo 

Fred and George were lounging out on the grounds after finishing their last end of year test. 

Fred rested his head on his arms while enjoying the sun, playing with the grass. Everything was very relaxing, except that his twin insisted on lying on his flying carpet and hover three feet up in the air. Which cannot have been all that relaxing, but props for style. 

He supposed the added hight was also helpful for their current activities. It had been months since they last used the verb-changing spell, and thus the population of Hogwarts had been lulled into a false sense of security. In other words, now was the best time to once again bring the spell back. It was good practise for his technique as well, Fred mused. Shooting a high-powered spell through a tree or a spell so week it was barely noticeable at their unsuspecting fellow students was very good training. 

Although they were discovered by one of the prefects a little while later (having cast the spell at thirty different people was somewhat telling). Luckily Professor McGonagall was in a good mood and only assigned detention for the last days of school (and did not extend it into the next term, as she had done during their second year). 

The day of the End-of-Term Feast Tom said that he had found a place to stay somewhere outside of London (being his usual cagey self), but that he would meet with them when school let out. They decided that three days at the Burrow was enough time for their mother to allow them enough leeway to travel. _How_ they were going to get to London, that was an entirely different matter. They could take the carpet as their mother did not know of it (them having bribed Percy), but neither Fred nor George felt like spending hours travelling. And with Floo Powder being expensive, that avenue was out as well. 

Fred was turning over the problem in his head when Tom sighed. “Why don’t you simply Apparate?” 

“You are aware that that is illegal, right Tom?” George asked. 

“So is Blood-magic, but I distinctly recall the two of you having performed that on a multitude off occasions,” Tom deadpanned. “You cannot convince me that you two have never tried to Apparate, the two of you are way to curious not to. You performed your first spell at five after stealing your father’s wand, so I doubt not having a wand would prove a difficulty either.” 

“And what an experience that was. Did we not get grounded for two months for that, Fred?” 

“Yes, but that is not the issue, George.” Fred turned back to Tom. “We have tried a couple of times with Bill’s wand. I’d say we are more skilled than the general wizard or witch, but we are not nearly skilled enough to Apparate from Devon to London, not to mention that the trace would definitely pick up on us doing it with our own wands.” 

“But one can Apparate wandlessly.” 

Fred simply stared at him. 

“What?” Tom said defiantly. “Both of you are skilled enough to pull it off.” 

“There is a real difference between unlocking charms and magical teleportation.” 

Tom seemed to give up at that. “ _Fine_ , no Apparition. You will have to get to London on your own the first day, but in a couple of weeks I should have a mode of transportation ready.” 

Fred waited for him to elaborate, but when no explanation was forthcoming, he steeled himself for four hours of flying on George’s carpet. At least it had an invisibility feature now (copied from their father, of course). 

And so, Tom left (and thus the twins did not get the chance to hide Tom in one of their trunks, as they had planned. Fred had been looking forward to that). 

Hufflepuff won the house cup, which he should have seen coming, considering that both Gryffindor and Slytherin had gotten into way more trouble than usual this year (not because of _him_ , of course) and most Ravenclaws spent their DADA lessons correcting Lockhart and thus lost a surprising amount of points. Hufflepuff had, in comparison, been helping the teachers with homework grading (as the professors had spent much time escorting students), making treats for the Aurors or making sure all the lower years had someone guiding them when out and about. 

So, the Great Hall was decorated in yellow and black. 

The next day Fred and George packed the last of their things up and made their way to the station early in order to get a good compartment. 

Fred was snoozing when the door opened, and they were joined by Lee and the Gryffindor Chasers. 

Katie sat down with a sigh of contentment next to Fred before loudly exclaiming. “And we are _done_! Summer, here we come!” 

Alicia shot a silencing spell at her and said, “Sure. And in less than three months we will be back for our OWL year.” 

“ _I_ don’t have OWLs next year,” Katie murmured and extended her tongue, Angelina having removed the spell on her. 

“Because you are the baby of the group, Katie darling. Our little third year.” 

“Sometimes I feel like a day-care teacher,” Angelina sighed. She might have complained more, had George not burst into flames at that exact moment. 

Literally. 

Blue fire suddenly enveloped his twin’s entire body. “Bloody Hell!” Lee jumped back from where he had been sitting next to George while Angelina and Alicia each shot an _Aguamenti_ at him. Not that _that_ resulted in much, as the water simply evaporated upon contact with the fire. They were starting to freak out when George opened his eyes and grinned like a maniac. 

“I am _One_ _with the Flame_!” First then did he look down on his hands to notice the fire licking at his limbs “… I am also on fire. Why am I on fire?” 

Fred poked his brother with the tip of one of his pens experimentally. He felt no heat from the flames until his pen came into contact with the roaring inferno surrounding George, at which point the tip incinerated and Fred scooted away hastily. “I thought you said that this spell would _protect_ you from fire, not _set_ you on fire.” He now threw an old sock he had found under the bed while packing, which promptly joined the pile of ash that had previously been his pen. “This spell seems a little extreme, no?” 

George studied his clothes and his seat (which were still intact, for some reason) and then down on what remained of the sixth candy wrapper that had been thrown at him (as Lee and Katie had joined Fred). “Well, this is sort of a _shield_ , at least? I am pretty sure it will protect me from fire as well as projectiles. That was the description, after all.” After some silence he continued. “I suppose it was made so it would look like the witches were actually burning to make it more realistic?” 

“Certainly, brother dearest.” He shook his head. “I’m not even sure why I am surprised anymore. It is not like any of the spells you’ve dug up from those old tomes of yours has actually done what you thought they would.” 

“Hey!” 

Angelina would have patted George on the back, had he not been covered in flames, but instead settled on giving him a soothing smile. “They do turn out to be interesting, though, don’t worry. I really liked the time you tried to change Wood’s hair pink but instead turned his clothes into giant butterflies. It was entertaining to watch him chase the flapping fabric around for an hour.” 

Alicia nodded in assent. “Right. And I got to sleep in while he ran around that day, instead of going down to the pitch at five in the morning. Not to mention all the great pictures that first year… Creevey took. Real art.” 

“Yes, yes, George makes the bets unintentional pranks,” Lee agreed. “But could you please put the fire out now?” 

“Oh, right!” George once again closed his eyes, and fifteen minutes of mumbling later he was finally fire free. And also, very tired. That spell must have been more draining than his twin had anticipated, as he ended up sleeping across Lee and Angelina’s laps for the duration of the journey. 

Fred wrote up a letter to Charlie telling him about George’s newly mastered spell. He planned to get his twin to write out notes on how to accomplish the feat as he thought his older brother might appreciate something like this what with spending his days working with dragons. 

And thus, their fourth year at Hogwarts had come to an end. 


	7. Chapter 7

In the end, Fred and George had to spend a week at home before they were allowed to go on any trips. 

Not to say that they spent that time sitting idle. 

The first thing they asked after returning to the Burrow was if Harry could stay at theirs for the holiday (because sending him back to _those people_ was not something they were eager to do, even if the boy now had both his owl and snake for protection). Only to get an emphatic no. 

When asked why, the only answer they got was ‘because Dumbledore said so’. For all that they liked and respected the Headmaster, neither twin could agree with this particular decision. What reason could there be to justify sending Harry to that place? Not one Fred could think of. 

But there was nothing the two of them could do about it (or their mother, but she had put up a considerate fight). With the option of removing their pseudo-brother not available, the twins had to get a bit more creative. The least Fred and George could do was to make Harry’s stay with his awful relatives easier. 

Sending the boy some food felt like a good place to start. 

Although this task turned out to be a lot harder than Fred originally imagined. 

The first issue was how to keep the food fresh. Using preservation charms for the entire summer was not a lasting nor dependable arrangement. Since they could not, you know, cast them without triggering the trace. But not using these charms would not leave them with many options in the food department. Meat would go bad way to fast, as would most cooked meals. So, how to get Harry all his nutrients? The boy was way too thin already. The second obstacle was getting the food to Harry. Poor Erol was not up for more than one trip to Surrey a week. Lastly, there was the problem of obtaining enough money to _pay_ for said food. It was not like their family was swimming in money. 

With no good options, Fred and George ended up sending Harry different kinds of fruit and vegetables. Pears, carrots, apples… those would hold long enough for their next delivery. Fred also added some bread and jam. 

It was not nearly enough, but hopefully, it would tie the younger boy over until they thought of a solution. 

oooOOooo 

George was looking forward to meeting with Tom again. 

Waiting a week for the visit had made him feel somewhat jittery. It was not that he did not trust Tom… but the thought of the boy going off to who knew where was concerning. Well, maybe Tom was not the most trustful person. 

Therefore, it would calm George’s mind to know what the boy was up to. Not to mention that George found it very entertaining to spend time with Tom. There was nothing wrong with anticipating a meeting with a friend you liked hanging out with. 

So, they were going to Tom’s. Wherever that was. His description had been somewhat vague (and really, why was he surprised?). They were set to stay for an entire weekend (although George was planning to get the allotted time boosted up to Wednesday). 

Friday afternoon he and Fred packed their bags before jumping onto George’s flying carpet (and really, Fred? Do you have to look so green? George was an exceptional flyer. There was no reason for his twin’s behaviour). Then followed a five-hour trip which George, at least, found highly enjoyable. 

Following Tom’s (lacking) directions they arrived outside of London by a small village. George steered them towards a big Tudor-style house boasting a beautiful garden dotted with bushes and wildflowers. Although it was situated within a cluster of homes in the area, the place was remote enough that they had no trouble landing without being spotted by muggles. George touched down on the grass with dazzling graze (shut up, Fred) and they made their way towards the house. 

George spotted Tom sitting in a hammock on the lawn, reading a book, and was gratified to know that his navigation skills were on point. 

When the two of them got closer George could see his brother rolling his eyes. George could understand the sentiment. Tom _was_ the kind of person to wear slacks and a dress shirt even when it was boiling outside, wasn’t he? Without preamble, George opened the gate and they entered the property. 

“Afternoon,” Tom greeted, discarding his book and giving them his full attention. “How was your trip?” 

“Wonky,” ( _rude_ ) “You better have come up with that promised plan. I am not doing that again, thank you very much.” 

Talking amiably, the three of them made their way inside. As Tom led them around the ground floor George took in the light and airy atmosphere and décor. The house itself was stunning. But there was a distinct lack of the things usually found in a wizarding home. The paintings on the walls were still, none of the wooden furniture was moving around and, most startling, there were no protection around the home whatsoever. 

After these observations, George could not help but to state the obvious. “Lovely place. But there is no magic here. And I am not just talking about the lack of magical wards. The magical residue is no older than two weeks.” He glanced at Tom before continuing, “How, exactly, did you get this place, Tom?” 

“That is a good question.” 

“ _Tom._ ” 

oooOOooo 

Tom sighed. He had known that the twins would ask questions. They were too clever not to (and still they managed to land themselves in all types of trouble. Sometimes he wondered if they lacked self-preservation skills or if they simply ignored those skills for some hair-brained reason). 

For some reason, he found himself reluctant to outright lie to the boys. He was sure this phenomenon was a consequence of sharing half a soul with the pair (or something like that. A _soul_ is hard to talk about in halves and percentages, not to mention that he might not have taken equal parts from the brothers. But it was easier to say ‘half’). And so, he found himself replying. Telling the twins about how he ended up living in a muggle house (and one that was not hideous, either. Ugh, but how it pained him to admit that. Tom supposed that, every blue moon, the muggles did end up doing something worth mentioning. To think that _muggles_ got to the moon before them. _Embarrassing_ , really). 

“As I do not legally exist, the first thing I did was to enter a couple of muggle facilities to add a bit of a… paper trail. We would not want the new identity to crumble when questions are asked.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “I am now going by Thomas.” He was not going as _Tom_ , thank you very much. “I have yet to decide on a surname, however.” 

“What’s wrong with Riddle?” 

“Did it slip your mind that there is already a Tom Riddle? We cannot have two of us running around. Besides, I fancied a new one. I am considering taking a wizarding name… as soon as I figure out how to avoid accusations of Line Theft, that is. And I am reluctant to go the muggleborn route either,” (been there, done that. Being a muggleborn in Slytherin was not fun), “I have come to somewhat of a standstill.” 

“While I appreciate you telling us of your commendable name-choosing struggles, I did ask about the house.” 

“First of all, I don’t think _you_ , of all people, should be remarking on my ability to stay on topic, George. What with you and Fred being physically unable not to go off on a tangent. I was getting to the part about the house, _Merlin_.” 

While talking, Tom led them into the library. Immediately upon entry, Tom could see the twins’ gazes zero in on the old lady seated in an armchair, where she was solving a crossword puzzle in the muggle paper. The somewhat plump woman sat straight and looked healthy. Tom approached her with a smile and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Hello, Mrs Cooper. How is the crossword coming along?” 

She looked up and gave him a crinkled smile, her brown eyes kind. “Tom, dear, how many times must I say it; Frances is fine.” With a flick of her wrist, she folded the paper and placed it on the table after which she removed her reading glasses. “Let’s not discuss this infernal thing while we have guests.” She turned to the twins and graced them with another warm smile. “And I see that the friends you told me off have arrived. Fred and George Weasley, if my memory serves me correct?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Mrs Cooper huffed a laugh. “Oh, how polite. They are even worse than you, Tom. No need to be so formal here, you are my grandnephew’s friends, after all. Frances – or, if you persist on being formal – Mrs Cooper, please. And Tom? Your package arrived.” 

“Which one?” 

“The one with the cauldron and assorted ingredients. It is out in the sunroom if you want to take a look later.” 

While they were making small talk, Tom could see the cogs turning inside of his _friends_ ’ (he could think the word without cringing now. Progress) minds. So without further ado, Tom made his excuses and the three of them left for the second floor and his room. He had barely closed the door before the interrogation started up again. 

“ _What_ was that? You have been stuck in a book since the forties, so I highly doubt that that woman is actually your great-aunt.” 

“No, but she could be. If you stretch the truth a wee bit. You know, it was a happy coincidence that I found Mrs Cooper when I was looking through birth-records. Her older sister married a squib, so not only does she know about the magical world, there is a legitimate reason as to how we could be related.” 

George did not seem overly impressed by that argument. “That is…great, Tom. It still doesn’t explain why she believes that you are family. _Please_ tell me you did not mess with that old lady’s head.” 

“I am getting there. As I said, her sister married a squib. Now, this man was born a Prewett, and as I have mysteriously gained hair the exact shade of a Prewett’s, it was a true stroke of luck. It gives me a legitimate reason for having said hair. Just imagine the rumours if someone saw me and I did not have a good explanation. Anyway, both husband, wife and new-born son died sometime during the fall of Grindelwald at the beginning of the century. When I looked up the remaining family, only Mrs Cooper was still alive, her husband died some fifteen years ago.” 

Fred looked horrified. “I can’t believe you are taking advantage of an old lady!” 

Tom rolled his eyes. “Would you please let me finish before jumping to conclusions? Honestly, Mrs Cooper would notice that kind of manipulation from miles away. She is a retired… muggle Auror. One that is now teaching classes in criminology at Oxford.” He was met by two confused faces (honestly, he had spent fifty years as a book, as he had been kindly reminded. How come he knew more about this than they?). “That is a muggle university, as in higher education. My point is; she would have noticed if I did something untoward.” After seeing some of the distrust leave their expressions Tom carried on, “I just bent the truth a bit.” 

(Besides, she must have been lonely. He was doing the muggle a service, really. Although… maybe he would leave out that observation when talking to the twins. They had such delicate sensibilities) 

“Well, what did you tell her, then?” Fred asked. 

“That I am a newly orphaned boy, born from a mother with no living relatives. With the mother’s demise, I sat out on a quest to look into the past of my father, who also died a couple of years ago. These traces led me here to England, all the way from Germany where I was born.” 

Both Fred and George gave him somewhat sceptical looks. “That is a bit farfetched, innit? I mean, do you even know how to _speak_ German?” 

“Of course I speak German! What kind of imbecile would say they were from another country of they couldn’t speak the language of said country?” 

Tom had even spent time looking at pictures of the cities and countryside while memorizing facts about Germany. Not that he would mention that to those ungrateful Gryffindors. 

“Be that as it may, you are aware that most people from Germany have an accent when they speak English. You, Tom, speak with a clear British accent.” 

“I am extremely talented when it comes to languages.” 

Fred gave Tom an unimpressed look. “I still find it hard to believe that Mrs Cooper would fall for that.” 

“And we are back to that again, are we? You know, there are more similarities between me and the Prewett family than the copper hair. I look enough like the deceased squib that a family relation is entirely possible… she actually gave me a picture of him.” Tom went over to one of his bookshelves (where he had stored a fair few of the books he had liberated from the Room of Hidden Things) and passed them the frame. “Here, take a look.” 

After studying it for some time Fred nodded. “True. I mean, it’s the small things.” He squinted to take a closer look at the photo within the frame, glanced up at Tom, before looking down again. “Like, your eyes have the same shape, and your shin resemble his… it is a little creepy how much this man resembles Gideon and Fabian, though.” He then turned, appearing to take in Tom’s appearance with new eyes. “Not to mention how disconcerting it is that you look like our mother’s brothers, as well. I don’t know what exactly went wrong with that ritual, but one of the effects was clearly you beginning to look like our deceased family members.” 

George hummed in agreement. “This would explain Mrs Cooper taking your word for it, at least. And you are treating her well?” He gave Tom a hard look. 

“Of course. I will have you know that I have grown quite fond of Frances Cooper in the short time I have known her. Great conversationalist. And since I have been selling a couple of the trinkets from the Room of Hidden Things money is no issue, so no need to worry about me stealing the money of an old lady. Satisfied?” 

George raised his brows but dropped the topic. “Well, that’s lovely for you, Tom. So, what have you planned for our stay here, then?” 

“You said you wanted to test your final version of the Shrinking Candy, no?” 

“Oh, yes!” George exclaimed. 

“In that case, let us head down to the sunroom. Hopefully, we will have the last kinks worked out before the end of the weekend. But,” Tom stared the twins down, “no exploding Mrs Cooper’s patio, am I clear?” 

George grabbed Tom’s sleeve and started to drag him along. Tom gave him a bemused, but indulgent, look. “Crystal. Now, lest go!” 

oooOOooo 

George woke up grudgingly Tuesday morning when even hiding under the comforter did not shield his eyes from the sun. 

With a sigh, he rose from the bed he had been occupying during his visit to Mrs Cooper’s house. After donning a dressing gown over his pyjamas, he left the guest room and went down to the kitchen. 

He was somewhat sad to be going home tomorrow morning, as he was rather enjoying his time hanging out at the house. He had been brewing potions with his brother and Tom to his heart content; reading questionable books on magical theory Tom had acquired; getting a tour of all the muggle contraptions around the house and binge-watching something called ‘James Bond’ movies (which had been beyond awesome, fictional muggle spies were amazing). When Mrs Cooper noticed how interested they had been in the movies, she had even brought them to a shooting range where they got to try out some muggle weaponry. It had been exciting, if somewhat intimidating as the guns had been nearly as dangerous as a killing curse. To say that George had taken the safety rules to heart (for once) would be an understatement. 

All in all, George had had some eventful but greatly enjoyable days. 

George was the first one down, but he was quickly joined by their host and Fred, who was dragging a still sleep mused Tom along behind him (who would have thought Tom was such a nightmare to get up in the mornings). 

They sat down and ate a quick breakfast (served by a _butler_ – _who even has one of those in this day and age?_ – and a _maid_ , George really could not overlook this fact) before the three boys said their goodbyes and went outside. 

They had decided to go on an excursion, bringing some packed lunches, and simply enjoying the summer. George mostly watched nature, while Fred and Tom were deep in a discussion about spell crafting. The three of them were nearing the top of a hill when George suddenly remembered that today was Make-Sure-Harry-Does-Not-Starve-To-Death day (also known as the day that the boy’s awful relatives went away on their weekly day trips, making it the perfect time for an owl delivery). 

“We have to send provisions to Harry!” George interrupted his brother in the middle of his sentence. 

“Right,” Fred said when he was reminded. “I don’t suppose you have an owl Tom?” 

Tom nodded. “I do, but he will not be back until tonight at the earliest. Is it urgent?” 

“Somewhat, yes,” Fred answered. “You remember the Parselmouth we mentioned before? Well, his family is,” Fred paused, unsure if he should continue as he knew that the abuse was a sensitive topic for Harry, “…bad.” At hearing that Tom’s eyes darkened. 

“We’ve been sending him food this summer,” George continued. “Although it is hard to send things that keep long enough for it to be useful.” 

“Why don’t you just send him some canned food?” 

George exhaled before he hit himself over the head and groaned. “Of course! Why did _I_ not think of that?” 

“What is ‘canned food’?” Fred asked. 

“Food stored in airtight containers, so that they are preserved. They have an incredible shelf life. Multiple years,” George said. 

Tom turned back towards the house and started walking. “Come on, let’s go back and get our wallets. Then we can head to the supermarket.” 

George met Fred’s gaze. His twin simply shrugged, and then they followed Tom. 

With the help from Tom, they would probably be able to get quite a lot of food, especially as they had decided to use some of the money they had made from selling their inventions (and they had gotten quite a lot with the help of Parkinson). It might delay the acquiring of their shop for a year or two, but their little brother’s best friend was more important. 

It was sad, though, that three teens had to make sure that the hero of Wizarding Britain was fed. One would think that the adults would be able to manage that at least, but _no_. 

They got back to Mrs Cooper’s house in about half an hour and went to get the money (luckily the twins had exchanged some wizarding currency for the muggle one). After that, the three wizards walked to a bus stop to catch a ride to the nearest supermarket. 

When they went inside the store, both Fred and Tom came to a sudden halt, appearing ever so overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place (although Tom tried valiantly to hide it. Give him a week or two and he might have trained up that poker-face). 

George felt quite proud of his amazing muggle-world skills as he, somewhat gracefully, led them down the correct aisles by following the helpful signs suspended from the ceiling, pushing a shopping cart in front of himself. They arrived at their destination, gazing at the aisles upon aisles filled with canned food. 

“There is so much I can’t even fathom where to begin,” Fred murmured, still awestruck, while George and Tom began to browse. 

“Well, some greens would be good, right?” George said, holding up one canned corn and another with black beans. After looking at them for a moment, he threw three of each into the cart and added some tomatoes and spinach while he was at it. 

“Is this soup?” Fred asked, having moved down the passageway. 

Tom went over to see what Fred was inspecting. “Yes, that is chicken soup.” He glanced further down and removed another can from the shelf. “We might as well get some pea-soup. And maybe minestrone, vegetable soup and… how about chilli, that sounds interesting.” The cans joined the dozens already in the cart as they moved onwards, throwing down a little of everything – including, but not limited to – four cans of beef and spaghetti individually. 

In no time at all the cart was full, and so they walked towards the cash registers. On a whim, George also added two packages of different biscuits. 

They were almost at the registers when Fred exclaimed, “Wait, how is he supposed to open them without magic?” 

Following this prompt, they turned around. And ended up hopelessly lost, as none of them was aware of how to actually open one of the contraptions. In the end, George asked one of the muggles working in the store (which, _wow_ , that was like the first time George had spoken to a muggle that was not aware of the wizarding world without a professor around – as Tom had handled talking to the bus driver – _nerve-wracking experience_ ). The kind man led them to the can openers and even demonstrated how they worked. 

In the end, they also added two spoons, as they were unsure if Harry even had access to those and thought it better to stay on the safe side. 

It was a bit of a struggle to get all their purchases onto the bus, but George and Fred managed (Tom was no help at all – what with his noodle arms – leaving the heavy lifting to the quidditch players). 

“How in the name of Mother Magic are we supposed to get all this stuff to Harry?” Fred asked while giving the groceries laid out on Mrs Cooper’s dining table a pensive look. 

“It is a bit much for an owl to carry without a Feather Light Charm. Or a box with an Extension Charm,” George agreed solemnly. 

“You don’t say.” 

Tom ultimately seemed fed up with staring and declared that they might as well take his car. Merlin, but was Tom productive. He had been out of the diary for, like, _a month_. 

Tom led them to a garage. George was _very_ surprised by the Ford Anglia sitting all innocently in the middle of the room. It looked scarily like their dad’s missing car, except its vibrant shade of crimson, of course. Not to judge, but George would not have thought the boy was into Gryffindor red considering how often he would complain about their house. It did look good, though. All shining with its silver accents and the top half painted in varnished white. But still, the _red_. 

When the car started on its own George was almost certain that it _was_ their old car. Seeing as it all but ran away to live in the forest after Ronnie crashed it into the Whomping Willow, he supposed they no longer had a claim on it. If it had decided it preferred to hang out with Tom, who was George to stop it? Hanging out with Tom was, after all, an interesting pastime. 

Thus, George and Fred once again found themselves carrying the shopping bags, packing everything into the car while Tom settled down on the counter reading a book. 

In no time at all the car was stuffed with food, and the three boys were off towards Surry (Tom looking way too smarmy driving). 

oooOOooo 

Tom was slightly annoyed with himself, going through all this trouble for someone he did not know. Once again, he found himself damning his recently acquired empathy – well, _the twins’_ empathy. It really was like a disease, making him unable to ignore a boy whose situation was painfully close to what he, himself, had endured. Orphaned-Halfblood-Parselmouth, indeed. 

But if one developed a case of compassion they might as well go all out. If Tom had to have these kinds of _feelings_ , he would be the Salazar damned best empathizer ever. 

Or so Tom kept telling himself. It was not working all that well. 

“Here we are,” Tom said with slight contempt, “Little Whinging.” 

Tom found the place unbearably dull. All those boxes in rows upon rows upon _rows_ , radiating the same feeling of undeserved, garish haughtiness. Appalling. 

Tom landed the car right next to a park, before continuing onwards driving like a muggle. When they were one street down from their destination Tom parked by the sidewalk. Without further ado, Tom got one of the grocery bags out of the car and transferred it into the fabric thing on wheels Mrs Cooper had referred to as a shopping trolley. While the trolly was hideous (two words: _polka dots_ ) it did make transporting the food easier. Well, for Tom, that is. Fred and George got to carry the remaining bags, so the thing only benefited him. Oh well. 

They walked down Privet Drive until they arrived in front of number seven. George made his way towards the door trailed by Fred, but Tom found himself getting side-tracked by the quiet hissing originating from underneath the hydrangea bush. And, like the cunning person he was, he got down on his arms and knees to say hello to what sounded like a snake. Tom loved snakes. 

Except that it was not a snake. 

A pair of stunning green eyes were looking back at him. Tom found himself confused by the weird tugging on his… being? Yes, being. There was no other word for it. He inexplicably found himself leaning nearer, pulled in by the eyes that had enraptured him. 

Until the eye contact was broken by a snake suddenly hissing three inches away from Tom’s face, it’s tongue just gracing Tom’s nose. “ _What do you think you’re doing human, hmmm? You a peeping Tom or something?”_

…what was he supposed to say to that? ‘My name is indeed Tom, but I do not peep’, no thank you. _Merlin_. 

Tom slowly dragged his eyes away from the slitted one’s of the snake and back to the dark-haired boy’s. Who was staring right back at him. 

Until they were jostled (in Tom’s case quite literally) out of their reveries by Fred and George popping up on either side of Tom grinning like the maniacs they were. 

“Why, hello Harykinns!” 

“Nice day we’re having, no?” 

“But we have got to ask– ” 

“ –what _are_ you doing under the bush?” 

The boy that must be Harry Potter looked baffled by the sudden intrusion. He blinked a couple of times and suddenly seemed to comprehend the situation as he too started to grin. “Fred! George! What are you guys doing here?” 

The four of them all crawled out from under the bush and stood (they had planned on not attracting any attention. Which was going oh so well) as Fred began to explain the reason behind their visit. When it became clear that Potter had been locked out of the house George opened the door with a flick of his hand, allowing them to bring the food into the house and then the twins carried it up the stairs towards what was presumably Potter’s room, rushing back down after a couple of seconds. 

The green-eyed boy sat down and gestured for them to join him before he looked at Tom. “So, uhm… I’m Harry Potter. Who are you?” 

Tom opened his mouth, before closing it with a snap. He had yet to settle on a name, although he was leaning towards going with a muggle surname. It would be easier to pull off, even if the thought made him blanch. He was about to choose one of the common British surnames he had come across in his search of identities when George opened his mouth to answer in Tom’s place. 

“This is our… cousin, a couple of times removed. Thomas… uhm.” 

That was when a stroke of genius (read: utter stupidity) hit the twins who both opened their mouths at the same time to finish the sentence. 

“Gau-” 

“Prew-” 

“-nt” 

“-ett” 

Tom closed his eyes, exhaling in exasperation, silently counting to three. He opened his eyes just in time to catch Fred and George’s heads swirling to look at one another, appearing horrified at their ‘twin speak’ having failed them in a time of need. 

The newly dubbed Gaunt-Prewett felt a sudden urge to hit the bumbling fools over the heads but had to settle with a hard kick to each boy’s shin. 

“Yes, Thomas Gaunt-Prewett. Lovely to make your acquaintance, Potter,” Tom said while smiling pleasantly, ignoring the wincing red-heads next to him as they cradled their legs. 

“That makes sense. You can definitely see the family resemblance.” 

“ _The twins tell me you are a speaker?_ ” Tom asked in order to change the subject (and because he was curious. Sue him). 

And suddenly the boy in front of him went from smiling to positively beaming with happiness. “ _You can talk to snakes as well? I thought I was the only one!”_

Tom found his smile becoming more genuine in the face of the absolute joy on Potter’s face. “ _From what I have found, all Gaunts are Parselmouths. It is a family trait. Although the ability is much more common in other parts of the world, so we are not the only ones alive, of that you can be sure. Although from how they talk about it in this country one would certainly think so.”_

And now the boy’s eyes were shining with elation. 

For the love of Morgana, he should not have found that so adorable (and wasn’t that a new adjective in Tom’s vocabulary). Which brought him back to the curious… _pull_ , he had experienced at their arrival. 

When he still thought of the diary holder as ‘Forge’, Tom had been told about Harry Potter defeating the lunatic formerly known as ‘Lord Voldemort’ (how had his creator gotten it into his head that using an alter ego they had invented at _twelve_ was a suitably menacing title for a Dark Lord? And for that matter, a _Dark Lord_ , really? The plan had been to take over the world silently from the shadows. With _class_ ). For Potter to have accomplished this as a mere babe, surely the youth had to have some kind of odd ability. One that allowed him to defeat an incredibly powerful (if insane – but the two were not mutually exclusive) Dark Lord. Maybe this magical force was able to affect the Original’s Horcruxes as well. It was certainly something Tom would have to investigate. 

The four of them ended up spending the entire afternoon conversing (in English, so that the twins could also participate). Harry asked how they were able to perform magic without the trace picking up on it, thus Tom explained that the ministry could only detect magic performed by wands rigged with the trace or the giant bursts of magic produced by children’s accidental magic. But wandless magic (done correctly) was unnoticeable, as the small burst of magic used did not trigger any alarms. 

There were exceptions, of course, as there were to everything. Like the Levitation Charm (Tom felt himself shiver as the thought brought back memories of pushing the goblin made metal around the castle. It just had to be one of the most useful charms that strained one’s magical reserves, wouldn’t it?). 

They also started talking about why Tom had not attended Hogwarts (cue Tom’s wondrous tales of Germany), what each person had done so far in the summer, the value of potion lessons and many other inane topics. 

They also went up to Harry’s… _room_ (Tom was even more committed to helping the twins with their Free-Harry-From-The-Dursleys plan after seeing that) to hide their purchases better. Inside the closet, under the bed or floorboards and in Harry’s trunk. With the four of them working together they quickly finished. __

Tom found himself reluctant to leave, but they had to avoid Harry’s relatives. Although they did plan to come by again next time the _Dursleys_ went on an extended trip. 

oooOOooo 

Sadly, George and Fred’s time at Tom’s place had come to an end. 

Fortunately, Tom had kept his promise and procured a way for them to visit next time. So, when George and Fred had their bags packed up and were ready to depart Wednesday morning, they were handed a package of Floo Powder by a still yawning and bleary-eyed Tom and then ushered out of the house without fanfare. 

As Tom had been unable to connect Mrs Cooper’s fireplace without going to the ministry (because of the, you know, lacking identity issue) George and his twin could not Floo home from the house. Instead, they decided to take a day trip to visit Lee (who was in possession of a fireplace connected to the network) in London. While they could simply use the Floo from the Leaky Cauldron, both twins would much rather see their friend. Two birds, one stone. 

Thus, they spent the rest of the day at the Jordan residence. They played gobstones, but after a while, they decided to walk around Lee’s neighbourhood. After convincing Lee’s parents that they would _not_ end up getting killed by any strange muggle devices, that is. 

George had a wonderful time when they visited a park; buying ice-cream, talking to some older ladies feeding ducks, looking at the muggle playground and playing ‘rounder’ with some of the locals. The last activity George found extra enjoyable, especially the part where he got to hit the ball and he got to show off his superiority as a Beater. 

When they arrived home in the evening, George felt knackered and fell asleep as soon as his head hit his pillow. 

After pulling both himself and Fred from bed the next morning he was pleasantly surprised by an announcement made by their father at breakfast. Their dad had won the Daily Prophet’s competition, earning their family some much-needed money. 

About a fourth would go into renovating the house and getting Ron a new wand, leaving five hundred galleons to fund a family trip to Egypt. In less than three weeks. 

George did not understand why their parents decided upon using up the five hundred galleons on a vacation and thought there might be better uses for it but decided not to mention it. Instead, he opted for a _positive_ attitude. Spending some time with Bill and Charlie was, after all, something to look forward to. 

oooOOooo 

Tom had decided that he enjoyed muggle weapons when he was the one utilising them rather than being on the receiving end. Apparently, being stuck in a diary had blunted his fears of muggle guns (he was still somewhat wary – read; _terrified_ – of their other inventions, particularly the bombs. And the London underground). Thus, Tom found himself joining Mrs Cooper on her weekly visits to the shooting range after getting a taste for it when dragged there by the twins. On France’s urging, he also joined a class, so that he might receive a firearms certificate. 

Not to say that this was all Tom did with his time. 

He was extremely busy researching the events that had occurred during his imprisonment (mostly in the muggle world as the twins had filled him in on the wizarding side of things). To be honest though, even with his love of reading the amount of literature he had been consuming were beginning to get a bit much. 

Therefore, Tom was mildly excited about his impending meeting with the Goblins. It would be nice to get a change of scenery. 

Who was he trying to fool? Tom was over the moon about the meeting. If he succeeded, he might just get an identity and would thus be able to move freely in the wizarding world. He was starting to tire of his reliance on owl-deliveries. And Tom _would_ succeed. He had been studying the accord between the goblins and wizards, the wizarding law concerning identification and what little could be found on goblin morals (Tom had experience with _morals_ , now. The pesky things were capable of destroying even the most well-crafted of plans and _needed_ to be taken into account). 

Having an identity also meant Tom could finally get his hands on a _wand_. Oh, how he had missed performing sophisticated spells. Magic more complex than making a feather hover or delving into the minds of his neighbours (the last one only happened twice, mind you. In a particularly harsh bout of boredom). So far Tom had been unable to acquire a wand with legal means (and he was not desperate enough to traverse Knockturn Alley in search of an illegal one unarmed). 

So, when the day of the meeting arrived, Tom stuffed the Ford Anglia with the goblin-wrought silver, and then he was off. 

When Tom finally sat down in the office of one of the higher-ranking Goblins (he was pretty sure this one worked with appraisal, but Goblin rankings and positions _really_ were not his area of expertise) he was beyond exhausted. He had been forced to levitate the chests into Diagon Alley and through the entire bank. At least the chair was comfortable, he noted as he let himself get enveloped by the cushy seat. 

Moreover, the office was refined and Tom, ever one to appreciate the beauty of the things around him, found himself taking in the marble designs with interest. 

Tom’s survey of the office was cut short as the doors opened and an elderly Goblin entered, carrying a high stack of parchments that he (…she? they?) placed upon the desk before turning to his client. 

Now, Tom was not expecting any form of cordial greeting and was thus taken entirely by surprise when he got a slight nod with the barest hint of a scowl (which, coming from a Goblin, was the epitome of politeness in interaction with wizards and witches if one was to go on the Original’s memories of meetings with the beings. Or really, what Tom observed walking across the main floor of the bank today). 

The Goblin sat down in front of Tom, all the while studying him with almost unblinking (and somewhat unbelieving) eyes. “Greetings, wizard. I am Nuvrod, Head of the Ancient Artefacts Evaluation and Classification Division as well as the Handler of Heirlooms here at Gringotts,” the Goblin introduced himself, carrying on with his scrutinization. “ _You_ are the one claiming to have uncovered an old Goblin treasure?” From the Goblin’s tone, Tom began to suspect _he_ might not have been what the Goblins were expecting. 

Normally, Tom would have been offended by the blatant – if somewhat polite – disregard of his person. But in this regard, Tom could not find the Goblins faulty. Tom was, after all, an expert of portrayal (when he had not been driven insane by isolation and soul ripping or overwhelmed by having acquired a new body, that was), and he had wanted to sound professional when scheduling this meeting. Apparently, this led the Goblins to expect something else. Who could blame them? 

After getting the pleasantries over, Tom proceeded to recite the tale he had spun specifically for this occasion. About how he had, quite unexpectedly, come across an old and secret lair belonging to the deceased Dark Lord Voldemort (cue the flinch that followed every time that _ridiculous_ anagram was spoken). How he had been able to counter the curses littering the place as he _too_ was a Parselmouth. And lastly, how Tom had deliberated over whether he should deliver his finds to the Ministry of Magic, as the law dictated, or if Tom, being the righteous wizard that he was, should return what he had discovered to its _rightful_ owners. 

When done delivering his story Tom opened the chests full of the goblin-wrought silver with a dramatic flair… so that the appraiser could take a closer look, of course. 

After close to fifty minutes had passed, the Goblin had finally inspected _every_ _single piece_ and confirmed that they were authentic. This done he turned back to Tom and gave the boy a considering look. “You have done a great service to the Goblin Nation, as the silver is indeed what you claimed it to be.” The Goblin’s eyes hardened a fraction as he continued, “What is the price you seek to claim for having returned our possessions, young wizard?” 

Well. It appeared as if Tom might have failed with the ‘I am only doing this out of the goodness of my heart’ act. Not that he truly expected differently, of course. Goblins were, in general, way more preceptive when it came to suss out lies then the average witch or wizard was. Admittedly, this was probably a direct result of Goblins distrusting or outright hating all magic folk, thus not believing a word coming out of their mouths. 

Now came the part where Tom brought up his request for a new and improved identity. The task _should_ be fairly easy for the Goblins to manage. Being the ones to handle inquiries of inheritance and the enforcing of wills – with the help of both muggle and wizard solicitors and other additional personnel – not only did the Goblins have next to unlimited access to the records concerning population in every ministry on the planet, but they also owned their own library on genealogy (only available to Goblins, of course, following the _incident,_ where one of their spells had been copied by the Black family). Because of this, it would be child’s play to add some falsified paperwork both in the United Kingdom as well as in Germany. 

Or it would have been, had the twins not decided to introduce him as Thomas _Gaunt-Prewett_. 

Now, both these names were of well-known families, not to mention that the Prewett line was still very much alive, making it harder to assume a new persona as it would be scrutinized by society. Still, the Goblins should have no trouble falsifying an identity if they wanted to. 

Tom was pleased when the Goblin, after contacting some of his colleagues to discuss the request, agreed that granting Tom a new identity was indeed a token of equivalent value as that of the returned valuables. So, it was with great pleasure the former Horcrux walked out of Gringotts Bank as one Thomas Mervyn Gaunt-Prewett. 

With barely an hour before the Alley shops were about to close Tom set off towards Ollivanders. He would have to buy the rest of the things needed to enrol at Hogwarts later (if only because he knew of no way to fake OWL scores which Tom was very much in need of. Apparently, it was a lot harder to fake an education than it was it produce an entirely new identity). And get a secondary wand, as Tom had no plans of being restricted by the Trace. 

When Tom opened the door to the cramped store he was met by stuffy air and dust spiralling around said air lazily, shining as it was hit by the last daylight. It looked almost exactly as the memories had portrayed it. He turned to take in the high shelves but was instead met with Mr Ollivander himself, appearing far older than he was when the Original first met him. 

“Good evening,” the old man greeted as he studied Tom, “How peculiar. Normally, when I do not recognise a patron, I would conclude the phenomenon being the result of said patron being a descendant of non-magicals.” Mr Ollivander paused as he took a step around Tom, “But I believe this is not the case this time. That particular shade of bronze hair, those eyes and the freckles; indeed, you have the appearance of someone hailing from the Line of Prewett. It is curious though,” he continued as he tilted his head. “Why, now that I look at it you appear almost a dead ringer to _him_ … but no. That is far too improbable.” Mr Ollivander scanned him once more with a small frown, looking deep in thought, before turning on his heel and continuing to talk. “Oh, look at me rambling. You are here for a wand; I shall stall no longer.” 

He retrieved a tape measure from behind his counter and then walked back to Tom, who had already raised his right arm in preparation (he did remember the procedure for this. But dear, even having read some theory behind wand-making he could not figure out why the length between his nostrils was needed). Upon noticing the upstretched arm Mr Ollivander gave a small smile and set the measurer to do its job with a flick of his wrist. That concluded, the older wizard began puttering about, taking down wand boxes and placing them on the counter. After barely a minute, the tape measure was done and returned to Mr Ollivander, who then beckoned Tom over to him as he placed down the last box he had retrieved. “Now Mr…” 

“Gaunt-Prewett, Mr Ollivander.” 

The old man’s brow rose at the names into a barely noticeable arch, but except that minuscule reaction the wandmaker carried on as before. “I see. Well, you do, as formerly stated, have the look of a Prewett.” He then reached for a black box on the counter, opened it and then handed it over to Tom. “Now, Mr Gaunt-Prewett, give this one a try. Laurel and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches. Somewhat Rigid.” Tom reached out, but as soon as his hand closed around the wood it sapped him and he dropped it right back into the wandmaker’s hand. Ollivander easily replaced it with another. “Hmm, how about English oak and unicorn hair ten inches– ” He snagged it out of Tom’s grasp before even finishing his sentence. “No, not that one.” 

Tom got a strong feeling of déjà vu as he tried out wand after wand, not unlike his first time here. At least this time he knew that sooner or later, Mr Ollivander would find the right match for him. The wandmaker took out a dusty box from the top of a shelf and held it out. “Acacia is not a fit for many, but why not try? Here, dragon heartstring fifteen inches, unyielding.” 

Tom accepted the wand and felt phantom warmth travel up his arm, but after giving it a swish he shook his head. “I’ve no doubt this wand would work for me, but I do not think this is the one.” 

Mr Ollivander nodded after tapping it ones with his finger. “Quite right you are, Mr Gaunt-Prewett. But we are close. Try… this one,” he spoke after once again removing a dusty box, this time from the lowest ledge. “Silver lime and phoenix feather. Twelve and a half inches and surprisingly supple.” The wandmaker held out a lightly coloured wand with an elegantly carved handle and a narrow tip. As soon as Tom took hold of it, he felt a calm settle over his mind. It was unlike the rush the Original had experienced, a feeling of electricity that had flowed through his body. This was more like being submerged in water, the serenity of floating and just existing. When he heard Mr Ollivander hum in approval Tom opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and gave the man a genuine smile. There was no other feeling quite like finding the perfect wand, after all. 

“Well, seems we have found the one.” 

Mr Ollivander rang up the wand as well as a wand holster and sent Tom off with a cryptic comment (which was, let’s be honest, par for the course when dealing with the eccentric wandmaker). 

Tom made his way out of Diagon Alley and back towards the Ford Anglia while he thought about ‘his’ old Yew wand. Since there had been no word about it being destroyed it was likely still out there. As its old owner was indisposed at the moment, there was no reason why _he_ could not locate it for his own use. Well, except that there was little chance it would actually work for Tom. There was a reason why his new wand was unlike the first one, after all (as in, Tom was neither an eleven-year-old enraged at life nor was he a genocidal maniac, _so_. He would like to think he had mellowed with age and experience). 

Tom caressed his new wand and once again felt that calm presence. No, Tom was quite content with this one. 

oooOOooo 

Fred was sitting on his bed, writing the completed recipes for the size-changing candies down in The Grimoire of Pranks. George sat across from him putting the finishing touches onto yet another singing book (with their dad’s wand, obviously). The Evil Harpy’s owl was set to get the newest batch for delivery today, so it had to be finished now. 

The two worked in companionable silence as the sun rose and lighted up their room. When Fred heard their mother start on breakfast, both of them packed up and Fred snuck out to return the borrowed wand while George handed over the books to the newly arrived owl. 

After finishing breakfast, the twins made their way over to the wood’s edge near their home. 

“We should just get an owl,” Fred muttered as they walked, absentmindedly rubbing his hand where Parkinson’s owl had scratched him. 

“I mean, I suppose we could afford it. And it is an investment.” 

“Is that a yes?” Fred inquired eagerly. 

“I suppose so.” 

Upon reaching the edge of their property George upturned his bag, resulting in a multitude of letters falling out on the grass. 

“Let’s see what we got,” Fred said, as he started sorting through the pile. “A letter from Adrian to both of us and this month’s _Discoveries of Magic_ ; a request from Angelina to meet up for some quidditch with the girls and a couple of the players that graduated recently; another one from Charlie and a letter for you from Rookwood.” He then held up a stack of official-looking envelopes. “And lastly, _these_ are from our dear Ricky Rowle.” 

George made grabby hands at the letters “Oh, did he finally get us our own Gringotts vault? I was starting to dread asking mum for permission.” After skimming through the content George smiled with pleasure. “Never say that Parkinson got us in touch with a bad lawyer. We are now the proud owners of vault 1210.” 

Fred leaned over his shoulder to peer at the rest of the writing. “Hmm. Did we get the OK for launching some of our older inventions as well?” 

George nodded and pointed at one of the paragraphs. “Yes. All except the Winged Potion/transfiguration. Something about one of the reviewers having children at Hogwarts. Supposedly, no one wants another flying Mrs Norris. But the rest has been cleared for sale.” 

“Drat it, we won’t be able to brew some of those potions at home.” 

“Well, we were planning on visiting Tom next– ” 

George was interrupted by a loud screech originating from the kitchen. Both twins made eye-contact before rushing back home. 

Where they were met by an unexpected sight. Their mother was sitting hunched over the table staring down at a stack of official-looking papers with tears running down her cheeks. Ginny and Ron were standing near her, looking on anxiously. 

“Mum, are you all right?” Ron asked worriedly. 

Molly Weasley smiled up at her children through her tears. “Oh, these are happy tears, dear. I just– I thought I was the last one!” 

At this point, Percy had joined them in the kitchen as well. “Eh, mum? The last one of what, exactly?” 

“Of the Prewetts! With Fabian and Gideon’s deaths, I thought the family name would die out, only living on through the female line. But uncle Marvin’s son must have survived,” she said, smiling. 

Percy continued to gaze at their mother questionably. “I am not sure that I follow.” 

“According to this,” their mother said, motioning to the documents, “Marvin’s grandchild is back in England. As I am the oldest member left alive and thus Matriarch of the Line, the ministry must inform me of any addition to the family, so he must have arrived recently! Oh, but it says that he has been orphaned as the reason behind the move. That poor boy… I need to set up a meeting.” 

All Weasley children in residence stared after their mother as she buzzed around the house muttering about this other Prewett. 

In the chaos, both twins snuck out. “You don’t think that was about Tom, do you?” George asked his brother. 

“Surely he would have planned for an eventuality like this? It can’t be Tom.” 

They looked at each other before sighing. 

“No, no it is definitely Tom, isn’t it?” 

“Yep.” 

They continued to stand outside in silence while listing to the ruckus coming from the Burrow. 

“… should we warn him?” 

“…” 

“…” 

“Nah.” 


	8. Chapter 8

As the trace would not be added until he reached Hogwarts, there was no pressing need for Tom to get another wand right this moment. Still, Tom found himself eager to get the purchase out of the way and so decided to head back to the magical district of London the morning after having secured his identity. 

Tom felt immensely relieved that he had procured a wand by legal means before entering Knockturn Alley, what with the way the less reputable people traversing the alley was sizing him up. So yes, Tom was glad that he had his new wand close at hand, his holster concealed under his cloak. 

Hood hiding his face, Tom made his way along the twisting alleyway until he finally reached his destination, a small shop. It was an unassuming building (which was the point, Tom supposed) with a couple of odd-looking sculptures displayed in the window. He could say nothing about the shop’s interior, as it was obscured by a thick purple drapery. And so, Tom opened the squeaking door and pushed the velvet drape aside, entering the building. The inside was just as odd as the window display would have you think; with statues made out all kinds of material and in varying sizes, from a few inches to Tom’s entire body length, taking up the space not occupied by the front desk. The desk where a middle-aged witch was sitting, scribbling in a ledger. 

“What do you want, boy?” The woman asked without raising her head. 

After that, it was pretty straight forward. Tom had to say a code word before he was allowed to take one of the _many_ Portkeys disguised as art. As soon as he picked up the clawed butterfly made out of brass he was swept away (which was not pleasant. Journeying by Portkey was the worst way of travelling, in Tom’s opinion). 

Although Tom was not the biggest fan of Portkeys, he had to admit that they were necessary in this case, and he found himself admiring the setup. It was rather clever. After all, it was hard for the Aurors to get rid of the thing when they could not even find the buildings that hosted it, what with the portkey travelling, extensive ward work and magically binding oaths of silence. As a result, the Black Market of Europe was entirely untraceable. 

Not to mention that one was taken directly to the right section, as Tom would rather avoid a couple of those sections. 

Thus, Tom was transported to a giant warehouse in an unknown location, filled to the brim with magical loci. Mostly wands and staffs, of course, as this was (most likely) situated in Europe, but there were loci from other cultures to be found as well. 

At least the area was not overly crowded. Some dozen buyers, employees and guards working for the market were the only ones to be found. 

With the help from one of the questionable employees, Tom became the proud owner of a second wand. Fourteen inches, acacia and horned serpent horn. Only took him two hours. 

Tom was pleased to note that his new wands seemed to get along. It probably helped that the new one was also fairly calm (if a lot more manipulative then his silver lime wand was). 

He was transported back to the shop where he began by yet another Portkey and quickly made his way back into Knockturn Alley. He was almost by the exit of Knockturn when he spotted a small bookshop tucked into a corner. What caught his eye was a small leather tome with an engraved eye sitting in the window. Tom found himself entering the place almost without making a conscious decision. 

Now, the twins would blame his fondness (obsession) of divination for his unconscious decision. But they were not there, so Tom was disinclined to care even one iota about their opinions. It was not his fault that they lacked Tom’s talent in the subject. 

Tom was not disappointed by the content of the book. It included various descriptions surrounding the Art of Scrying, to divine both the present and the future. Scrying, especially cartomancy and catoptromancy (the reading of tarot cards and the scrying in mirrors or water, but those titles did not sound as impressive), had always been Tom’s specialities (Tom was also extremely skilled at necromancy, but that particular art was not appreciated in Magical Europe). As the book’s focus laid primarily in divining through the movement of water and other reflective surfaces, Tom decided he simply had to purchase it. 

Salazar, but was Tom looking forward to attending Divination lessons again. 

Which reminded him; as soon as he got back home, he needed to apply to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Tom paid for his new book and exited the magical district in order to do just that. 

He should have realised things were going too well. 

With what was beginning to feel like practised ease Tom parked the Ford Anglia in the garage before he made his way inside. Frances Cooper was neither in the kitchen nor the library, so Tom walked towards the second sunroom (the first one having been turned into a potions laboratory, so it was not that much of a sunroom anymore). When he slid the door open, he felt the district smell of his great-aunt’s favourite tea and began to smile absentmindedly. 

“Frances? I’m ba– ” 

Tom cut himself off hastily when he noticed the woman sitting next to Mrs Cooper. A woman whose appearance was way too similar to the twins’ (and his own) for it to be anyone else than a Prewett. 

(Sometimes Tom bemoaned his manners. It would have been uncouth to curse in the presence of his elders, but Tom felt like this situation could have benefited greatly from some foul language right about now) 

oooOOooo 

As soon as Ron stepped out of the fireplace George and Fred each grabbed an arm and dragged their younger brother out of the Floo Access Point and into Diagon Alley proper. 

Since their mother had spent the last day in something of a frenzy trying to contact her ‘long lost relative’ they had wanted to get out of the house. 

Sending a gesture in Fred’s direction, George began to back away. In deference to Ron who was not well-versed in Twin Telepathy (so aptly named by Ginny – although Tom had taken to calling it by less reputable names), he said his last peace aloud. “Meet you at Fortescue’s once you’re done?” 

His twin nodded his assent and began to steer Ron towards Ollivanders to finally replace the monstrosity the youngest Weasley brother had been using the past school year, while George set about buying a much-needed owl. 

As soon as he entered Eeylops Owl Emporium he felt drawn towards one of the short-eared owls. It was on the smaller side of the species, the white and brown speckled bird barely 14 inches. With the use of copious Shrinking and Featherlight Charms (which they were already employing) that aspect would hopefully not matter overly much. Seeing that they were trying to keep a low profile when it came to their budding enterprise when at home, an inconspicuous owl was the way to go. Decision made; George went to say helo. 

Ten minutes later he exited the shop with the owl riding on his shoulder and the empty cage in hand. 

George then made his way over to Florean Fortescue’s, resigned for a long wait he settled down at a corner table with some strawberry ice cream. 

He nearly fell off his chair when a body slammed down into the chair across from him. “What are you up to then, Weasley?” 

George sighed, the alarm he had felt slipping away when he recognised the voice and gave the girl a small smile. “Hello to you too, Emily.” 

Emily Rookwood deflated and returned his smile. “It _is_ you. Had to make sure, you understand. So, are you going to answer the question, George?” she asked while digging into her own ice cream. 

“Bought an owl,” he replied as he gestured to the bird still perched on his shoulder. “Fred is buying Ron a new wand.” 

She grimaced a little at the last statement. “Yeah. Your little brother’s wand broke, right? I distinctly remember the Slug-Vomiting Incident. Good for him.” 

“What about you?” 

“You know, getting most of the shopping done before the letters go out next month and the crowd hits. Need a new uniform and so on. It would be so much easier if the literature for DADA didn’t change every year. Not that I can buy the books until I know which NEWT classes I tested into,” Emily groaned before continuing. “I _was_ going to come with El and Clarice, but they bailed on me last minute. And then _dad_ insisted on tagging along instead. Thank Merlin I saw you here, or I might have had to spend lunch listening to him go on about the Wizengamot or some other political rubbish.” 

George winced in sympathy. “Good fortune, indeed.” 

“Precisely. As long as I don’t run off alone, he is fine with whatever, you know?” 

“What does he think will happen? It’s not like _Diagon_ is all that dangerous. Even if it was, I doubt _you_ would have much to worry about,” George commented lightly. 

She hummed thoughtfully. “I think he is more scared of me sullying his reputation by doing something I shouldn’t. Which is ridiculous, really. I wouldn’t get caught.” 

George found himself laughing once again. “I don’t blame him; it is a legitimate worry. There is a _reason_ you got banned from Quidditch last season.” 

Emily glowered half-heartedly at him. “That’s different! Tackling is a valid strategy–” she waved her spoon at him to underline the statement– “and you know it! Besides, it is not like any friend of mine would make the situation better. As if I would get into _less_ trouble with them there.” 

George had to concede that point. 

“Anyway, what have you been up to since school let out?” Emily asked. 

While they finished their ice-creams the two continued to discuss their summers. When neither of George’s brothers showed, George and Emily wandered over to peer at the newest Quidditch supplies for a while before splitting up once her father seemed to have filled his need to gossip. 

When Fred and Ron were still absent thirty minutes later, George abandoned the book he had been reading and made his way to Ollivanders. He was right outside the door when it opened, nearly taking off his nose, letting a grinning Ron and a somewhat drained Fred exit. 

Ron was smiling widely at the new wand clutched in his hand as the three of them made their way back to the Leaky to return home, his younger brother regaling him with the riveting tale of him finally gaining his own wand. 

oooOOooo 

Fred and George went to visit Tom the day after their mother’s little visit. When they knocked upon Mrs Cooper’s door it was therefore not all that surprising when they were met with a grumbling and glaring Tom. 

“Well, if it isn’t the Traitor Twins.” 

Fred smiled at the still scowling boy. “I take it you did not expect our mother to turn up, then?” 

Tom did not even deign his inquire with a reply. However, Tom did move aside, allowing them to enter. On the way up to Tom’s room, both twins waved at Mrs Cooper who was sat in her study before ascending the stairs. 

Tom sat down at the edge of his bed, still scowling slightly but did seem a bit calmer. “You could have warned me.” 

“We _could_ have. But where would the fun have been in that?” 

“You are aware that me, and Frances by proxy, now have a standing invitation for Sunday dinners at the Burrow.” 

“You don’t say.” 

Tom once again levelled an indignant glare in his and George’s direction (so he was still _a bit_ miffed, then. Well, Fred already knew the boy could hold a grudge). “At least pretend that you don’t find the situation amusing, would you?” 

Fred grinned up from his perch on the floor. “Anything for you, diary-boy.” 

Tom groaned in exasperation while letting himself fall backwards onto the bed (they must be rubbing off on him. Soon they might even convince him that he did not need to wear a vest and tie even at home). No sooner had he lain down before he sat up again, an evil smirk adorning his face. “It was my turn to pick the activity for this visit, was it not?” He smoothly got up before sauntering off towards the door. “Come along now, _dearies_.” 

Tom led them outside, to the enclosed backyard. “Now, I have had a fantastic idea. As neither of you can Apparate wandlessly yet, now would be the perfect time to practise that particular skill.” 

Fred gave Tom an incredulous look, feeling highly doubtful of Tom’s so-called brilliant idea. “We are going to splinch ourselves.” 

The older boy simply continued to smile impishly, which was not calming in the _least_. “Oh, worry not. I have procured a wand and will thus be perfectly capable of patching you up should you find yourself missing any essential body parts.” 

“So… what about the _non_ -essential parts?” George asked somewhat faintly. 

“I think you will be able to make do without some of that hair. It is getting a bit long, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Yay,” Fred muttered half-heartedly. 

“That’s the spirit.” 

Both Fred and George did better than he had expected. Fred managed to travel seven feet… although he also ended up misplacing half a hand. George did not accomplish any greater length of travel, but as his twin only lost a fingernail and a couple of hair-strands Fred supposed he had to admit defeat. 

After two hours of failed teleportation attempts (which was what Mrs Cooper called it when she went out to check up on them and hand out some refreshment – carried by the butler, of course) Fred and George finally managed to convince Tom to give the ‘lesson’ a rest. Or, more likely, their suffering must have staved off Tom’s irritation by giving the boy’s slightly sadistic tendencies an outlet. 

And so, the three of them packed themselves into Tom’s car and were off to see Harry. With their imminent trip to Egypt only being a week away it felt prudent to examine the younger boy’s food supply. It would have to tide him over until their return, after all). They were in luck and easily found Harry sitting alone in a park near his home. 

“Hiya, Harry!” George hollered once they got closer. 

“George!” The petit boy said as he rushed to his feet and then ran over to greet them. He was smiling brightly and proceeded to give George a hug (which was somewhat unexpected, as both he and his twin had noticed the way Harry would flinch away from physical contact – sometimes Fred really, _really_ wanted to ignore the laws surrounding muggle-baiting). Harry then turned towards Fred and gave him the same greeting. 

Harry turned to the last member of the group. “Hi, Thomas,” he continued, a bit more subdued but no less happy. “What are you guys doing here?” 

“You know, we were just passing by,” Fred said. He was cut off by Tom whose eyes had suddenly taken on a dangerous glint. 

“How did you get that bruise?” Tom asked while giving Harry’s arm a pointed look. After a bit of prodding from the former soul jar Harry told them about how his cousin and said prick-cousin’s friends had decided to use the Gryffindor as their punching-bag. Which was why Fred and George decided that it would be a fantastic idea to pay those who bruised Harry a visit. Not to do anything harmful, _of course_ , just to play a little prank. You now, something that bullies seemed to appreciate so much. Fred and George were great at giving their patrons what they wanted, so it was second nature to cater to the recipient’s humour. And the bullies in question had just demonstrated the particular brand of _pranks_ they enjoyed playing. 

It was only after he and George were off to hunt some troublemakers that Fred realised that leaving Tom alone with Harry might not have been the best idea. Well, they would manage fine on their own for a little while, surely. After all, he and George had a prototype to test out on some unsuspecting muggles. 

Thirty minutes later both twins returned to the park, feeling inordinately pleased with themselves. 

They found both Tom and Harry still present, the two sitting in the grass petting Harry’s snake. One of them must have said something funny as both boys burst into uncontrollable laughter. 

Well, it seemed as if Fred’s fears were unfounded after all. 

oooOOooo 

Fred watched Tom park the red Ford Anglia in front of the Burrow from the window. After a second both Tom and Mrs Cooper were exiting the car, and the two made their way towards the front door. Once again Fred found himself wondering why his friend thought that wearing both a dress shirt _and_ a slipover was necessary when it was 26 degrees Celsius outside. He knew that Tom disliked the cold, but this was a bit excessive even for him. 

He was joined by George and together they watched Tom greeted their mother and Percy. Tom appeared as charming as ever and Mrs Cooper was her normal agreeable self, but Fred noticed the slight twitch of their friend’s brow. He was obviously pushing himself. No doubt he had not expected to be _contacted_ by whatever family he would end up pretending to join. 

When their mother started to shout for them to come down, both Fred and George reluctantly left their seats to join the fry downstairs. 

Their mother started gesturing for them to stand next to her after they descended the stairs. “ _There_ you are. Fred, George, come meet Thomas.” 

Fred made his way forward and pretended to never have met the other boy in his life. Both he and George acted out the roles convincingly, if he did say so himself. Very convincingly. Fred managed to keep a straight face and George did not laugh once. They were doing great. 

Although he had no idea why Mrs Cooper was playing along with the ruse (when asked later she only said that even old ladies needed to have fun. Fred was beginning to understand why Tom liked her). 

After a quick introduction everybody except their mother, who went off to prepare dinner, made their way into the living room. 

It was a somewhat awkward atmosphere in the living room as the six teens currently spread across it studied each other (their dad and Mrs Cooper had gone to look at something in the shed because dad ‘would really appreciate the perspective of a _legitimate_ muggle on some of his apparatuses’). Of course, both Fred and George could have broken the tension with some witty comment easily, but where was the fun in that? It was much better to let the other occupants stew in silence (while trying not to appear too amused by the entire situation). 

“So, anyone up for a game of _Monopoly_?” Ron finally asked. 

“That is an excellent idea, Ron!” Percy exclaimed with forced cheer. He jumped up from the sofa and went over to a cabinet housing the family’s board games. Everyone sat down around the coffee table (Tom, of course, managed to snag the armchair while Percy and Ginny took the sofa, so the rest of them had to sit on the floor) and Percy started unpacking the box. “I’ll be the Grimoire. Ginny, the Broom as always, no? Ron gets the Pointed Hat and George the Cauldron. Now, where is the Cat?” Percy rummaged around the box before pulling out the small silver piece shaped like a feline. “Aha! Here you go, Fred. Now, Thomas; would you rather play as the Owl or the Crystal Ball?” 

Fred could tell that Tom had no clue as to what was going on, but the boy hid it well and managed to reply with his usual poise. “I’d prefer to play as the Crystal Ball, please.” 

“Splendid.” 

“Do you know the rules, Thomas?” Ginny asked. 

After Tom replied that no, he did not know the rules, the Weasley children gave him a summary of how the game was played. 

Fred barely noticed when his dad and Mrs Cooper returned, as the game was in full swing. But as the adults did not interrupt Fred decided to pay them no mind. 

“Drat it! The stupid card transported me to Azkaban!” 

“There, there, little brother.” 

“Now, George: Knockturn Alley is mine. So, _pay up_. Let’ see… I’ve got five shops as well as an inn, so that’ll be… sixteen Galleons and eight Sickles. Now be a good sport and hand it over.” 

“Morgana's tits!” – “ _Language_ , Ginevra, _please_!” – “Oh, shut it, Percy.” 

“Not a five. Not a five. Anything but a five. Ahaa! Yes! Got a six! Oh, you are so done for.” 

“ _Why_ must all wizarding games explode? It is ridiculous. This is a game about buying properties! It hasnothing to do with explosions or fires of any kind!” 

All of them jumped when their mum suddenly called that dinner was ready and would everyone come sit down. The so-called children got up, although Fred noticed that Tom looked very reluctant to leave the game. Tom must still be living under the delusion of catching up to Ron, who was leading the game by a wide margin. Poor Tom. No one in the Weasley family had won any type of strategic board game since Ron’s tenth birthday. 

And so, Weasley family and guests settled down around the kitchen table while their mother levitated the dishes onto the table. Fred started filling up his plate as conversation sprang up around him. He did not bother listening to the others, instead choosing to focus entirely on the food. After all, he and George had been experimenting the entire day and he was ravenous at this point, all the casting having drained him of energy. 

George had apparently been _inspired_ by the firearms used in the muggle motion pictures they watched while at Tom’s. Now they were trying to come up with something amusing but nonlethal to use firearms for. It was not going all that was as, so far, every suggestion brought forward by his twin brother had been _a bit_ too destructive for them to be willing to sell it (they were not going to be manufacturing _weapons_ ). Good thing both of them were excellent when it came to shielding charms and muffling spells. 

Fred was jolted out of his eating, though, when a certain conversation between their mother, Mrs Cooper and ‘Thomas’ caught his notice. 

“– the issue of a Magical Guardian.” 

“Pardon?” Tom blurted out, before something seemed to sink in and Tom suddenly went a little pale, a look of trepidation overtaking his face. 

“You must appoint a Magical Guardian, dear. It is one of the reasons we invited you and your legal guardian to come over today. Of course, getting to know you is just as important – if not more important – than any legal matters,” their mother was quick to assure him, having no doubt misinterpreted Tom’s growing apprehension. “As of now, you lack an adult to handle the wizarding side of things. I understand it must be hard to deal with, what with having lost your mother and moving to a new country, but we must deal with this promptly. As I am the Matriarch of the Prewett Family claiming me as your guardian would be easy, should you wish, Thomas. Of course, as an orphan, it would be within your right to ask for Professor Dumbledore to act as your– ” 

Tom interrupted her before she could continue, looking vaguely ill by the mere mention of Dumbledore assigned as his Magical Guardian. Although Tom was quick to smooth over his expression and giving their mum a big smile. “Oh no, Mrs Weasley, I would greatly appreciate it if you took up the position. If it is not too much trouble, of course. I would not want to be a burden,” Tom mumbled ‘self-consciously’ (if Fred did not know him as well as he did, he would have thought Tom sincere. Merlin, but it was almost scary how good of an actor Tom was when not overwhelmed by magical rituals gone haywire). 

Their mother looked delighted. “Oh, it would be no trouble at all. And please, call me Molly, dear. We are family.” 

And suddenly they were going over the legal proceedings of gaining a Magical Guardian, and Fred promptly shut their conversation out. He continued to eat his food while he contemplated his earlier experiments. Maybe they could do something involving glitter? 

A while later, Fred found himself listening in on his mother and Mrs Cooper’s conversation once again as they started to discuss the Weasley family’s upcoming trip to Egypt. 

“– we would love to join you. But we will be perfectly capable of handling the cost ourselves. No, Molly, I insist. I was planning on taking Tom for a holiday this summer, already. Can you believe that he had never left Germany before he came here?” 

“Oh dear. Well, as long as it is not too short of a notice.” 

“Oh no, it is no issue at all. Why, I have some close friends in Egypt that I have been meaning to visit for years! But we would have to take a plane, of course. I simply cannot travel by Portkey.” 

And suddenly (if not very surprisingly, considering the topic) their dad joined the discussion. Somehow it was decided that not only would Tom and Mrs Cooper (and their butler – named Walter, Fred had figured out) join them in Egypt, but their dad would be accompanying them during the plane ride as well. 

This was not something they could miss. George, no doubt having had the same idea, spoke up as soon as their dad declared he would be travelling ‘the muggle way’. “Could me and Fred also take the plane, mum?” 

“I, well. I am not sure that is– ” 

“Mum,” Fred added gently, “do you _really_ want dad to take the muggle plane on his own?” 

She cracked instantly, agreeing that it might be for the best if they accompanied their father. Merlin, but were they lucky she was so distracted by the thought of their dad with free reign of a muggle apparatus flying six miles up in the air, or she would have no doubt realised that their dad and the two of them _together_ might even be a worse idea than Arthur on his own. At least according to her. Fred would have her know that he and George were both extremely well behaved when in the muggle world, thank you very much. 

And well, Fred wanted to allow his twin this opportunity of travelling by flight machine. George loved muggle things almost as much as their dad did. Not to mention, having a front-row seat to all of Tom’s reactions during the trip was worth gold. 

oooOOooo 

It was the 30th of July and in three days Tom was supposed to travel to Egypt. 

He had been completely blindsided by that particular turn of events. It had been somewhat of a sudden decision in Tom’s humble opinion, but he supposed he was not displeased by the imminent trip. A trip to Egypt had the potential of being both interesting and fun and, well, Tom would like to visit another part of the world. For all the languages he could read and – in many cases – speak, he had never actually left the United Kingdom before. 

Not to mention that he suddenly had a legal guardian in the muggle world, as well as a _muggle_ identity, in addition to the one the goblins sat up. Tom did not know how Frances Cooper had managed to pull off that particular feat, but he was not complaining. And that was not even thinking about _why_. But when asked the woman only gave cryptic replies or used evasive manoeuvres (many of which Tom knew he himself utilised, so he was not in any position to complain, he supposed) he decided to simply leave it. It was not a problem, so why stick his nose into it. 

Not that Tom was not curious, but he knew he would discover the truth in time so there was no _rush_ , now was there? Tom was actually getting rather good at that ‘having patience’ thing (he’d had decades worth of practice, at this point). 

Anyway, the trip. While it would be interesting to leave the UK, as previously stated, it also meant leaving little Harry alone. 

Originally, Tom had taken it upon himself to look after the younger boy while the twins were away. 

It was not like the task was a burden, as it had elevated Tom’s boredom. With something to do in between reading up on everything he had missed, his studies had gone back to being enjoyable. 

Somehow this had ended up with Tom visiting Harry every other day (which Tom attributed to the influence of Harry’s weird Able-To-Defeat-A-Dark-Lord-As-A-Baby magic). 

Imminent trip and self-assigned task in mind, Tom set out for yet another shopping trip to buy provisions for the next two weeks. 

Tom sighed as he entered the supermarket. He stuck out among the muggles milling around the store like a sore thumb. But Tom was loath to change his appearance to fit in better. It was not _his_ fault that everyone in this decade seemed to have lost their sense of style. And had seemingly forgotten how to colour code or buy clothes that _actually_ fit them. It was all so… shapeless. And the _prints_. 

Tom _would not_ lower himself to walk around like a garish peacock, thank you very much. 

( _Bless Mother Magic_ that it was not the ‘ _80s_ Tom had found himself in. He had _seen_ those pictures… they were horrid! Nightmarish! Tom could scarcely stand the thought of it. In the end, he had resorted to lock the memories up behind imperishable walls – good thing he knew occlumency) 

So, like always, Tom simply ignored any looks directed at him and went about his business. 

This time Tom knew what to look for in the shop, and so the trip went much faster than his first one there. As he had asked Harry which of the foodstuffs he had liked the most, selecting which cans to get also went more swiftly. Soon Tom exited the supermarket and drove over to Harry’s (Or well, over to the house of his repulsive muggle family). 

When he arrived in Surrey, just before lunchtime, he used the ever-trusty _Point Me_ spell to locate his quarry before he set off. Thus, he was led to the boy’s residence, the shopping bags floating behind him and hidden from muggle view (Merlin, was Tom glad he did not have to lug around tons of groceries manually). Tom did not fancy waiting by the front door on the minuscule chance that Harry would decide to come outside nor did he feel like returning tomorrow to hand over the food (he did not even entertain the thought of knocking on the door – if he had to speak to the Dursleys he would not be held accountable for his actions). 

In the end, he decided to simply Apparate into Harry’s bedroom. 

The smaller boy lurched off the bed when Tom appeared in his room with a muffled crack. Tom looked on in amusement as Harry untangled himself from the duvet where he had fallen down on the floor in surprise. After a minute of shuffling, Harry finally got free and frowned up at Tom, who was not putting in any effort to hide the mirth he felt. 

Hedwig, sitting on her perch by Harry's desk, gave them both equal looks of disdain, clearly displeased by having been woken up. John the snake did not seem more pleased with them as he revealed his head from within the boy’s shirt to his at them for disturbing his sleep. Tom gave both the animals an apologetic smile, even if he did not feel very contrite. Harry’s disgruntled look was way too amusing for Tom to feel any type of remorse (well, Tom did not feel that much remorse in general, really). 

“Good morning, Harry. Pleasant day we’re having.” 

“How’d you do that?” 

Tom frowned down at the boy. “Do what?” 

“Appear out of thin air!” 

“You mean Apparition?” Tom asked, his frown deepening. The boy had never heard of _Apparition_? That was somewhat concerning. “It is a form of… what did the muggles call it, again… oh right, teleportation.” 

Harry nodded in understanding, quietly mumbling to himself about someone named ‘Dobby’, before refocusing on Tom. “When do I get to learn that?” 

“Sixth year, I believe.” 

“…but, aren’t you the same age as George and Fred? They’re _fifth_ years.” 

Tom hummed noncommittally. 

He then enlisted Harry’s help with unloading the groceries and hiding them away in various nooks. He once again felt extremely happy about having his wand(s) as he extended Harry’s hidey-holes and shrunk a some of the cans (putting various amounts of power into the spell so that they would revert to their original size at different times, as had been Fred’s idea). 

“How is your wandless _Alohomora_ coming along?” Tom inquired while tucking three cans of soups under a floorboard. 

Harry levelled a glare-cum-pout at him and Tom snickered at the boy’s put-upon look. “Don’t look at me like that. It was you who wanted to learn wandless magic in the first place. You wanted to perform magic during the summer. I am simply checking up on your progress.” 

“It’s going, okay.” 

“Well, I did warn you that it would be hard.” 

“Could we please talk about something else?” 

“Sure,” Tom gave in easily. He then gave Harry a conspiratorial smirk. “So, how’s your cousin been faring? The twins’ Quacking Terror functioning as it should?” 

Harry grinned and then went on to sharing Dudley Dursley’s recent struggles. 

When they were done with hiding the food both boys sat down on Harry’s bed to rest. Tom asked what electives the younger boy was planning on taking. Harry reclined on the bed, stretching his tired muscles (Tom was _casting magic_ , he could not be expected to _carry_ things at the same time, now could he?) with a pleased exhale before he began listing his choices; Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. 

“You’re taking divination? That’s– ” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Everybody says the class is a total hoax. I’m only taking it for an easy grade,” Harry interrupted Tom mid-sentence. 

Tom stilled at the comment and slowly turned towards the younger boy. 

“…come again?” 

“It’s a hoax,” Harry repeated. 

Well, that would simply not stand. 

“I will have you know that Divination is one of the most diverse Arts of Magic and it is _not_ to be underestimated. While I will admit that some forms of it can be cryptic and hard to interpret, all of that can be overcome with hard work and skill. The knowing of past, present and future is a powerful tool that, in the right hands, can change the course of history.” Tom began to pace the room, getting progressively more passionate as he spoke. “Of course, true proficiency can only be achieved by those possessing the Sight, but there is a reason it is still taught as a subject. By keeping an open mind and following instructions provided by one’s professor, even those without the Sight can gain knowledge.” Tom had now advanced to using gestures to get his point across. “Humph, ‘a total hoax’ they said? Imbeciles. Do not listen to those narrowminded fools. _All_ aspects of magic are worthwhile to learn.” Tom then pointed at Harry. “While I cannot say if you will have a gift for the Art, by simply doing your best you are sure to learn an immense amount of knowledge. You should always apply yourself, Harry. Do not let the prejudice of others drag you down.” 

“…okay. I mean, I will. Try my hardest, that is,” Harry elaborated sheepishly after a while. “Sorry.” 

Tom studied the boy before nodding. “That you try is all I ask. But remember, never judge something before you have investigated it yourself. Taking the words of others for a fact will only lead to doom. I mean, have you _heard_ some of the idiocy the so-called ‘Upper Pureblood Aristocracy’ sprouts? Ridiculous.” 

This, of course, led to a discussion of all the stupid things said by prejudiced people in both the muggle and wizarding world (and there is a lot to talk about. The sheer levels of _stupidity_ never cease to astound Tom). 

Suddenly Harry’s stomach started grumbling… just before two o’clock, Tom concluded after glancing at his wristwatch. Tom supposed it was time to eat. He considered eating some of the food he had just bought before shaking his head to himself. Eating out it was, then. 

Thus, after using Side-Along to get outside, Tom led Harry over to his car. (After transfiguring the hideous _things_ Harry wore into something a little less offensive. And hiding the boy’s scar – just in case). 

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Thomas?” 

Tom looked over at the boy sitting in the seat next to his. “What, are you under house arrest or something?” 

“I mean, technically not? At least, I think not. But I am not allowed to live anywhere else than here. _Apparently_.” Harry grumbled out the last word irritably. Obviously, _that_ had been stewing for a while. And once again Tom felt a slight bit of concern. The twins had said that Harry was not allowed to stay with them during the summer, but suddenly Tom got a feeling that there was something _else_ going on. Although he had no idea of what that something might be. 

“Well, I see no reason why you couldn’t go on a day trip. Besides, we are going _incognito_. And to a muggle restaurant, at that. It’ll be fine,” Tom assured Harry. He gently caressed the wheel and mumbled a helo to the Ford Anglia. Without any prompting on Tom’s part, the car rumbled to life. 

“Buckle in.” 

Tom took a steadier grip on the wheel before razing the hand break and pressing down on the gas (the car shifting on its own, Tom not even touching the gear shift or that third pedal. He had yet to grasp all the intricacies of the muggle vehicle, but as the car seemed happy to do it on its own, Tom had simply focused on learning how to steer. Which he was _very_ adept at). A moment later and they were up in the air, flying. 

“What are you worried about, anyway? Because I highly doubt we are going to run into any dangerous creatures or, I don’t know, a Death Eater there.” 

Harry was quiet for a moment before asking, “What is a Death Eater?” 

Tom looked at him incredulously, but Harry did not appear to be joking. “Oh, for Morgana's sake. Have they told you anything of value at all?” 

Honestly, that was simply negligent. 

Tom began to go over the history of the Original’s little terrorist group (Tom could not fathom how the Knights of Walpurgis turned into _that_ ). He also spent quite a substantial amount of time imploring Harry to, _please_ , start looking up some of these things himself. Seriously, this level of ignorance could not be healthy. 

They ended up at some Indian place (Tom _loved_ visiting new restaurants and trying exotic foods. He had not even heard of some of the dishes he found in this new time in the ’40s) where Tom and Harry each ate a bowl of tasty Chicken Tikka Masala and some naan bread. To pass the time they began to observe the people passing by outside on the streets. This devolved into a game of Narrate-The-Stranger’s-Life, which turned out to be very enjoyable. Especially as Tom found he excelled at the game. 

“I don’t want to go back yet,” Harry stated once they were done with the food and got up from their table. 

“Well, you could tag along with me for the rest of the day if you wanted.” 

Harry’s smile was answer enough. 

oooOOooo 

Tom once again found himself standing outside Number Four, Privet Drive. One day before his trip to Egypt. 

Harry fell off the bed this time as well when Tom appeared in his bedroom. Although Tom supposed that it was fine, seeing as it was seven AM and he had just woken the boy up (Tom would not admit that he had been unable to get up until Walter the butler had served him two cups of coffee. Hating mornings was a perfectly understandable thing to do). 

Harry squinted at him from the floor. Tom took pity on the boy and handed Harry his round glasses. “Rise and shine, Harry. We are going on a trip.” 

A couple of minutes later the boys were making their way down the street, Harry once again in new clothes. This time Tom had had the forethought to bring some along with him, so he did not have to spend time transfiguring garments (some things one could not be trusted with this early in the mornings, even with caffeine in the blood). 

“So, where exactly are we going?” Harry asked as they got into the car. 

“I was thinking of visiting the zoo.” 

“Sure. Not what I was expecting, but sure.” 

“I have been looking for the _perfect_ snake for quite some time. Sadly, I found none I wanted in Diagon.” Tom did not mention that he had entertained the thought of simply going to a smuggler to acquire a breed that pleased him (it said a lot about the wizarding world that most places the Original had gone to for illegal goods were still in use) but realised that a magical snake banned in England might raise too many eyebrows for his taste. There was no reason to attract undue attention. 

“And this pertains to us going tothezoo _how_? What are you going to do, _steal_ a snake?” Harry teased, before suddenly going quiet and frowning at Tom. “Don’t tell me you are _actually_ going to steal a snake from the zoo?” 

“I won’t utter a word.” 

“That’s not really what I meant…” 

They touched down close to London Zoo but took a detour to a café to eat breakfast while they waited for the zoo to open. When it did open the two made their way towards the entrance, Tom swiftly ‘paying’ the entrance fee and then they were inside. 

Tom was studying a map in order to find the reptile house when Harry walked off. “Where are you going?” 

“The Reptile House? I thought that was where you wanted to go,” Harry answered. Tom looked pointedly at the map he was holding. “Ah. Well, I’ve been before. Set one of the snakes loose and everything.” 

“Really?” Tom motioned for Harry to continue. “Well, don’t leave me hanging. What happened next?” 

So, Harry explained how he came to learn he was a Speaker, released a venomous snake into London and trapped his cousin in an exhibit while they walked to the brick building housing the reptiles. 

It was early enough that the place was not overly crowded, and the two boys could view the different exhibits without jostling any of their fellow zoo-goers. 

They browsed around aimlessly until Tom came to a halt in front of a gorgeous animal he had only ever seen in books before. He walked calmly (there was no rushing, no matter what Harry might say later. How many times did Tom have to repeat it? He did not _rush_. Ever) over to take a closer look at the giant four-legged animal. “I want one.” 

“Thomas, no.” 

“Thomas _yes_.” 

“You can’t purloin an _alligator_.” 

Tom turned his Puppy-Dog-Eyes (stolen from that wretch Amy Benson. May she be tormented by nightmares forever more. If she was even alive nowadays, that was) on Harry. “But it is _magnificent_.” 

“Weren’t we here to find you a snake?” 

Tom begrudgingly moved on from the exhibit (he could admit that this particular spur of the moment fancy might have been a bad idea in the end. But in his defence, alligators truly were magnificent animals). 

After that, they spent what must have been hours conversing with various snakes and even happened across one of the zookeepers that Tom persuaded into allowing them to help with the feedings. They also had the misfortune of stumbling across two girls and a boy his age that were being unspeakably rude to the reptiles as well as the people around them. Tom felt a lot better about that encounter after having asked one of the bigger pythons to lunge at the window when the trio passed. Especially while he was looking at their backs as they ran screaming out of the building. Harry tried to appear stern and tell him off but had a hard time keeping a straight face and eventually cracked up. Tom took the boy’s laughter as a win. 

Eventually, Tom and Harry arrived at the exhibits centred around tropical snakes. Tom found himself drawn towards an African bush viper, about eighteen inches long. At first glance, it appeared to be dark blue, but peering closer Tom noticed that some if its scales were verging into shades of indigo and turquoise. But what really caught Tom’s attention was the way it was hissing to itself. Specifically, how it was insulting some of the more dim-witted zoo visitors. Tom was of the opinion that any animal referring to the duo of gossiping middle-aged ladies across from him as ‘chattering proboscises lacking both intelligence and conversational skills’ would make a worthy companion of his. 

As soon as the viper understood that it was in the presence of two Parselmouths (and another snake, but John had been very well behaved the entire day and stayed quiet) it begged them (regally – that was an important distinction) to _please_ remove it from the hideous and utterly dull box. Which Tom was more than happy to do. 

A softly spoken “ _Geminio_ ” followed by a quick Banishing Charm on the glass allowed the viper to slither out of its exhibit and up Tom’s arm, where it then hid under his dress shirt with a hiss of gratitude. After applying a notice me not on said shirt he dragged a somewhat stunned looking Harry off to look at the rest of the reptile exhibits, none of the muggles any wiser (until a couple of days, that is, when the magic would run out and the duplicate bush viper would disappear. But they would be long gone by then, so). 

Harry and Tom then made their way out of the building and to the exit. 

“So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?” 

“I was thinking of heading home and constructing a suitable habitat for this beauty,” Tom began, stroking the snout of the viper who had poked their head out. But when he noticed how Harry’s expression fell Tom quickly added, “Would you want to come along?” 

Harry immediately seemed to perk up. “Really?” 

“Of course.” 

They drove on in companionable silence that was occasionally broken by the quiet hissing of the snakes. Tom was unsure if all the sass that was exchanged was a sign of instant dislike or if the serpents got along like a house on fire, but decided to leave them to it either way. 

“This is me.” 

“You _live_ here?” 

“Well, it is my great aunt’s house. I haven’t actually lived there for more than two months,” Tom added. 

Tom and Harry entered through the garage. He was secretly relieved that they did not run into Walter nor any of the other workers when they walked through the halls, as Harry already seemed somewhat unnerved by the splendour of Mrs Cooper’s home (sometimes Tom wondered why Frances insisted on working when she did not need the money. Then he remembered the absolute boredom of not having anything to do with one’s time and suddenly he had an easier time grasping the woman’s motivation). 

They went out into the garden where they began asking the viper for its food preference and what kind of plants to use for the enclosure. After a while, Tom gave up and instead went to the library to retrieve a snake encyclopaedia. It turned out that translating the Parselmouth names for objects to English was near impossible. Which figured, really. 

Many of the things they needed could be found in the garden and the greenhouse. Tom managed to get a temporary terrarium up and running, one that would make a nice living space for his new companion until Tom was able to owl-order professional equipment. 

After hours of gruelling work, they once again settled in the garden, their two snakes fast asleep upstairs, in Tom’s room. “What are you going to name him?” Harry asked after a while. 

“I hadn’t actually thought of that,” Tom admitted. 

“Maybe you could name him after a mythological dragon.” 

“He _does_ hold a striking resemblance to an Asian dragon,” Tom agreed. “That was surprisingly insightful. Coming from you.” 

“Hey!” Harry said and shoved him lightly. 

Tom smiled up at him from his new position sprawled out on the ground. “I’m only saying; someone naming their venomous snake _John_ , of all things– ” 

“He wanted to be called that! Thought it was funny or something.” 

“Alright, alright,” he placated the younger boy. “Famous dragons, you said?” 

“Yes. Although I can’t actually think of any,” Harry disclosed sheepishly. “Well, I know of one, I suppose. But I don’t think naming it Smaug was what you were imagining.” 

Tom was pretty sure he had heard George talking about a Smaug, but he could not remember much from the conversation. Mostly he had been thinking about how George was way too interested in muggle fiction. 

“We could name him Ryu or Tatsu. Both are dragons from Japanese mythology. Associated with water if I recall correctly. If we follow along with that theme, then Imoogi or Leviathan are also options.” 

“You are naming him after a sea dragon because the viper is blue, aren’t you? Now, who is lacking imagination?” 

“I could simply go with Draco, after the constellation,” Tom suggested, ignoring Harry’s barb. 

“Oh, _please_ name him Draco.” 

“You think?” 

“ _Yes_.” 

“Well, let’s go ask for the opinion of the one we are trying to name.” 

Thus, Tom’s newly acquired snake was named Draco, resulting in Harry bursting into uncontrollable snickering throughout the rest of the day. Tom initially played with the idea of using Legilimency to find out what the Gryffindor found so funny, but ultimately decided against it. Once again, he figured he wound learn of the reason sooner or later, so why rush? 

Draco was a perfectly adequate name. 

Now, Tom only had to figure out how to bring his new companion along for the trip to Egypt tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven’t already googled _African Bush Viper_ I would highly recommend doing it. Those snakes are absolutely stunning
> 
> (In which I use my first endnote to urge people to look at pictures of snakes. And I don’t even like snakes)


	9. Chapter 9

George was having the time of his life. No, truly. This might have been one of the most exciting things that had ever happened to him. 

The same thing was true for his dad, George thought. 

They had taken the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and from there they had taken the underground train (which was aptly named the _tube_ ). The best thing about the experience was that they got to take _moving staircases_ to get there. No magic and yet they were moving. It was marvellous (and a lot safer than the ones found at Hogwarts). 

The tube delivered them to the airport where they met up with Tom, Mrs Cooper and their butler (carrying only one bag, so Tom must have used magic. George also wanted an unregistered wand). With some help from the muggles they managed to check in their bags. 

Currently, George was standing in line together with countless muggles, all of them waiting for their turn to pass through the metallic contraption possessing the power to see _through_ them. He was nearly vibrating by the time his turn came. Except that it was a massive disappointment. The machine did not take see-through pictures, it was only there to detect metals. And worse yet, George would not even get to see the pictures they _would_ be taking! The airport personnel were the only ones who got to look at the photographs of their luggage taken with the magic ‘x-ray’ machine, which George would, as stated, not be allowed to view. 

He walked through the scanner-thing without issue, trying to hold back his pout at the massive let-down. 

Thankfully, George overcame his disappointment while waiting for the rest of the party to get through the machine. Observing Tom as he kept on fiddling with his bag, his sketchiness increasing the closer the boy got to the scanner, turned out to have an uplifting effect on George’s mood. George began to snicker quietly while he watched Tom discreetly transfer something from his bag to his shirt, hiding it underneath the fabric. Was the boy trying to smuggle something onto the plane? Knowing Tom, the answer was probably yes. 

George had his money on it being experimental potions. 

With all the subtlety of an experienced prankster, George brushed up against Tom as soon as the company of six were through the scanner. In addition to the glare this manoeuvre incurred from Tom, George managed to catch the low sound of hissing originating from Tom’s shirt. 

Well, that was that particular mystery solved. 

With four hours to go before take-off, George persuaded the others to take a look through the muggle stores situated in the airport. With the help of Mrs Cooper, George and Fred picked out and bought some _authentic_ muggle attire. Tom’s disapproval was palpable as he watched George and Fred pull on their respective jackets, but George could not tell if it was because of the flashy (‘ _garish_ ’) colours, interesting shapes (‘ _they are not even symmetrical_!’) or just their plain puffiness (‘ _utter shapelessness’_ ). Tom evidently held a deep aversion for windbreakers. 

And he was not shy about informing them of this fact. 

Not that George cared overly much about Tom’s opinion on this matter. No, George rather liked that his jacket was the colour of a sunset. But even he could admit that Fred’s choice was… a little out there. His twin got matching pants to go with his jacket, which made for a very bold overall effect. 

At that point, Tom looked as if he was in physical pain. 

The windbreakers would at least give him and Fred something to discuss with Headmaster Dumbledore once they ultimately got sent up to his office following the terms first schoolwide prank. The older man was a big fan of eye-catching everyday wear, he would no doubt appreciate their new purchases. 

From there the time seemed to be running away, and in no time at all their party had to make their way to the correct terminal to board the plane. Which was when George was met with yet another exciting surprise. There was a moving walkway. As in, the ground could move on its own. 

George did not think as he rushed forward, followed closely by Fred, and jumped onto the contraption. It did not go overly fast, but when he ran back and forth the varying speed was highly entertaining. Their father joined in as well, and soon the three of them were running along the moving ground, jumping and doing tricks while grinning madly. From the corner of his eye, George could see Tom dropping his face into the palms of his hands. 

“Loath as I am to break this up, we do have a plane to catch, gentlemen. Should we move onwards?” Mrs Cooper suggested serenely. Although the older woman did not wait for a reply, instead setting off towards their destination, so George supposed her suggestion was closer to an order. 

“Oh, thank Salazar,” Tom muttered in evident relief, turning on his heal to follow his so-called great aunt. 

“You have no sense of humour,” Fred told Tom once they caught up to him. “You should live a little.” 

George nodded. “Right you are. You should take his advice, Tom. Besides, just standing around like a statue seems very dull. You’d have a greater time if you let yourself partake in some tomfoolery.” 

Tom’s distaste was evident. “I think I will pass, thank you.” 

“Don’t worry, Tom. We’ll make sure to have enough fun for all three of us. Just you wait and see.” 

George gave Tom his most _sincere_ smile. “Um-hum. This trip will be _great_.” 

Tom rolled his eyes at their antics before he sped up. Apparently, he craved ‘sensible company’. 

George sighed; it was ever so hard to get a rise out of Tom these days. 

Minutes later, they arrived at the correct gate. The thought of provoking Tom into reacting fled George’s mind entirely as soon as his gaze fell on the giant vehicle standing outside the window. He was instantly enraptured. How could something so _big_ still _fly_ without magic? It was mind-blowing. And George was going to sit inside it. Travel in it. Miles above the ground! 

A little while later they made their way inside the plane and walked to their seats. With the use of his right elbow George managed to snag a window seat. Fred and Tom settled down in the same row, while the adults sat down in the row in front of them. 

With considerable effort, George refrained from jumping up and down in his seat like a small child when he felt the plane rumbling to life. But he did allow a wide grin to overtake his face. Slowly, the plane began to roll forwards. 

Suddenly George felt Fred nudge him. He glanced at his twin, who was motioning at Tom. George immediately understood what his brother wanted. It would have been hard not to; with the Slytherin sitting ramrod straight in his chair, clutching the armrests so hard his knuckles had turned white. 

“You alright there, Tom?” 

“Oh yes, I am doing _splendidly_. Could you not tell from the way I am brimming with positivity and calmness?” Tom bit out between clenched teeth. 

“Indeed. You’re a literal ray of sunshine,” Fred noted lightly, although George could see an undertone of genuine worry for their friend in his twin’s eyes. 

George studied Tom for a moment. “Are you going to be alright with this?” he asked with more seriousness. “You seem a bit… worried.” 

“We are going to cross a continent in a giant metal box, miles above the ground and with no security net. There will be nothing holding us up! Of course, I am worrying!” 

Tom had seemed calm before they boarded, so George had not even considered that he might find the imminent plane ride intimidating. But George supposed the abstract knowledge of flying in something not powered by magic would be less daunting than actually sitting inside the muggle aircraft when it was about to take off. As Tom did not have much confidence in muggle inventions the prospect must be at least somewhat unnerving. 

“Well, technically the _air_ will be holding us up. It is really quite interesting, you know. The way the wings are formed allows an aerodynamic force to form. And, once we are moving fast enough, the lift vector will be bigger than the one gravity excerpts on– ” 

George placed his hand over Fred’s mouth, cutting his tirade off before it could truly start. While George would often indulge his brother when it came to his rants (even though George only understood about half of what was said) now was not the time. 

What Tom needed was _reassurance_. 

“Think positive thoughts,” George began, “if something happens you can always Apparate out of the plane. No biggie.” 

“Yes, because Apparating out of a moving vehicle while stressed is a splendid idea. Not perilous at all.” 

“I’m sure you will be able to recall the three D’s even under pressure.” 

“Your confidence in me is commendable,” Tom said sarcastically. 

“You are in an excellent mood, aren’t you?” Fred commented. 

George shot his brother an admonishing look. He was _not_ helping. Then he turned his attention back on Tom. “You’ll be fine. Not only are you brilliant at wandless magic but your reserves are big enough that you could get to the ground without splinching. But you won’t have to, because the plane will be fine.” 

He would have continued, but by then they had reached the runway. Without preamble, the plane sped up and George was pressed back against his seat. The entire plane was shaking, making a sliver of worry take hold of George’s mind. It _was_ supposed to shake this much, right? 

Abruptly, the plane lifted off the ground and George felt his stomach twist. 

Worry forgotten, George turned towards the window and stared out in wonder, seeing everything grow smaller and smaller. He did not think he had ever been this high up before. 

Sometimes later the plane levelled out and the force pressing him back let up, allowing him to lean closer to the window. 

“Oh, dear Mother of Magic! Fred, take a look at that!” George near gasped, shaking his brother’s shoulder without taking his eyes off the view outside. “Look at the clouds!” 

Fred ‘oohed’ next to him. “It looks like a blanket of fluffy pillow stuffing! And everything is so _tiny_!” 

“I know!” 

They kept on studying the world outside the plane, but after a while, that got somewhat monotonous and the awe began to wear off. Luckily, Tom seemed to have calmed down by then, the boy leaning back in his seat relaxed and exuding poise. 

After that, they all retrieved their individual choices of entertainment. With a book grasped firmly in his hands George settled down for the long flight. 

A couple of hours later George was still reading a new muggle book he had gotten, Fred’s head resting on his shoulder. His twin was taking even breaths, fast sleep. That was when the announcement of them nearing Cairo, Egypt went out in the speakers. 

While the trip had been amazing, George did feel thankful that it would be over soon. His behind had started to hurt after all the hours of sitting. 

He came to revaluate his feelings of thankfulness once he stepped out of the plane and was met by what felt like a wall of warmth that was practically suffocating. Perhaps the plane had been better. 

oooOOooo 

Fred was eagerly anticipating the imminent reunion between him and his older brothers, as it had been over a _year_ since they last gotten to meet face to face. 

Not that they managed to spend much time on bonding that first day of the trip, since the plane trip had been physically draining for all of them. But they did have time to fit in a nice meal before heading to the hotel. Bill had chosen the restaurant beforehand and kept on insisting that it served the best food in Cairo (and going by the taste of the dishes Fred and George had shared – in order to taste two different dishes – Bill might just be on to something). While they ate, Fred and George also managed to waggle some more spells with prank applications from Bill. 

They had decided to take it easy the first week; simply spending time with their family and exploring Cairo. 

The twins somehow wound up in a car with Tom and Ginny and were heading off to meet some of Mrs Cooper’s _friends_. Which Fred had held no issue with until they arrived and his dear little sister suddenly found herself a new role model. One Frances Cooper, to be exact (although Fred supposed that Harry, at least, would appreciate Ginny transferring her celebrity worship onto somebody else). 

Ginny now insisted on only wearing pantsuits or blazers thrown over her usual pants and shirts. And not to be forgotten, the trench coat, as this was an _integral_ part of what she called the ‘elegant detective look’. Fred was not sure why she found those clothes _in particular_ to be some kind of chick investigator-wear. However, he did suspect the phenomenon had something to do with the many pictures that the assembled women and men had been peering over during their visit. Ginny had seemed particularly entranced by those pictures. Not to mention the look in Ginny’s eyes when the anecdotes accompanying the photographs had come up. 

What Fred found incredulous was that Ginny was _pulling off_ this new change of style. One of the _friends_ present at the little get together found Ginny ‘adorable’ and had _insisted_ on helping their little sister live out her fantasy of being a detective. This friend of Mrs Cooper’s was also, apparently, a hoarder, who had not thrown out any of her old garments and was now very willing to gift said clothes and accessories to the youngest Weasley. 

Tom found the entire situation hilarious, of course, and was gleefully helping Ginny keep all her new things hidden from their mother (and spell them into the correct size for Ginny. Tom was a deft hand at those clothes altering charms and transfigurations). Apparently, he was also up for pretending to be her detective-sidekick while wearing his own fancy garb. Especially as this led to them visiting a local shooting range (because Tom was, to Fred’s distress, still inordinately fascinated by muggle firearms. Only now Tom was joined by their baby sister). 

Not that Ginny managed to hide her new attire from their mother for long, as their little sister was being ever so vocal about her intentions to join the DMLE in the future. 

(This was how Fred and George got roped into watching even more films filled with mystery when they got back home. So, now Ginny oftentimes tagged along – with Luna Lovegood, who had gotten equally enraptured by the concept after Ginny’s gushing – to visit Mrs Cooper’s place) 

And as previously stated, most of their time was spent as a family taking in the sights. 

This sight-seeing included taking a look at many of the fascinating monuments (both magical and muggle) around the city, visiting markets and eating at the restaurants Bill recommended. 

To Fred’s amusement, George had also found the time to teach Charlie the fire spell he had discovered in the Restricted Section (that turned out to be useless protection when brewing potions but _did_ seem promising when it came to the experiments to create moving fireworks), thinking it might help him with his work at the dragon reserve. That was a fun evening; all non-adults (even Percy, after some grumbling about fire hazards) sat down around George to roast stick bread while Charlie sat next to them mumbling about ‘becoming one with the fire’ and Bill laughed his head off. 

They also went to the magical district of Egypt (which was _a lot_ bigger than the one back in Britain) to get souvenirs. Mostly funny or interesting trinkets, but Tom went all out and got himself three books on warding (Fred was starting to suspect Tom knew some kind of translation spell; Tom actually speaking all the languages his many books were written in was a somewhat unbelievable concept). Although they all got themselves some classic Egyptian wizard wear that Fred and George took to wearing every time they went out in public. 

oooOOooo 

Tom had enjoyed the first week spent in Cairo immensely and was therefore excited when they were to look at sights outside of the city. He also quite liked the Weasley family (no doubt a consequent of sharing a soul with the twins. These… _feelings_ were only _imprints_ that he had unwillingly absorbed) 

Visiting the pyramids was of course very interesting, especially as William was narrating and was, in essence, their tour guide. This meant that Tom got a thorough background of the mummies, objects belonging to said mummies and the symbols covering the walls. Of course, half of those they got to see outside of the ancient graves in glass cases at the museum, but Tom could picture them in their rightful place when they entered the pyramids. 

The best part was when they went to the magical sections, as William knew the most about those and told him all about the wards and traps that had been disabled when they were opened the place for the first time. 

Tom and William were turning a corner when the passage was suddenly filled by angry screaming – accompanied by delighted laughter – originating from behind them. Upon turning, the source of the disturbance was easy to find, and Tom found himself sighing. 

“ _George_! _Fred_! I know you are there! Let me out of here this instant, you utter _nuisances_!” Percy (presumably) was screaming from behind a thick wall. 

Now, Tom really ought not to find the situation as entertaining as he did. Locking someone up in a tomb, he was certain, could turn out to be quite a traumatic experience. Moreover, Percy was a _somewhat_ likeable person (when one excluded his penchant for following rules religiously and his continued insistence that the ministry was _not_ complied by an utterly incompetent pile of bureaucrats). But Tom did so enjoy locking people up in dark places in order to scare them. 

Tom gave the twin a tired shake of his head. “Can we not leave the two of you alone for even a moment without you running off and causing problems? This is a place where invaluable artefacts are stored, and you go and tamper with it? I am disappointed in you.” 

Especially for getting caught. Really, they were slyer than that. 

This was followed by an exhaustive scolding by the Curse-Breaker, with Tom pitching in every once in a while. Not that the twins appeared repentant in the least. But then again, no one was expecting that reaction in the first place. 

When the visit to the graves was almost over, they were met by another surprise in the form of a reporter and a photographer from the Daily Prophet. They wanted a story from the yearly winner of their contest. Tom thought that it was unnecessary for them to travel all the way to Egypt to take a single picture and hold an interview. They could have accomplished that back home. Admittedly, Tom was not overly surprised by their actions, he knew many wizards had problems when it came to logic and common sense. 

Either way, the Weasley family found themselves posing in front of the pyramids for a picture. After much nudging and insistent prompting, the Weasleys were joined by a very reluctant Tom. He felt even less thrilled when, halfway through the impromptu photoshoot, Ronald’s pet rat almost escaped and caused quite the commotion. The rat did calm down though, once it got to rest in its owner’s arms, and they could get on with the picture taking. Unfortunately, the reporter (a boring older man who talked slower than a sleep-deprived sloth) insisted on that interview and thus followed the party to the restaurant where they were to eat lunch. 

The saving grace and only reason Tom managed to stay awake while they ate was that his newest companion kept up running commentary. Draco was a snake after his own heart. 

The rest of the week was spent taking trips to the bigger wizarding settlements around the country. They also took a toured boat trip along the Nile and visited the Mediterranean ocean, spending two days bathing and consuming seafood. 

In the middle of everything, a missive came to his muggle guardian who, upon reading the content, stated that she was needed at work and had to leave early. She appeared upset by whatever she had read, but Tom got no chance to ask her about what this work emergency was before she was off. Luckily, Tom was allowed to stay while Frances took a plane out of the country to deal with the unnamed crisis. 

On the last day of the trip, before it was time to go back to England, Tom and Ginevra were out to buy some snacks when the wide street suddenly devolved into chaos. People were running around screaming and there was an air of hysteria permeating the air. 

“Merlin’s saggy balls!” Ginevra exclaimed as she threw herself out of the way of a screaming man. “What is going on?” 

Tom found himself unable to answer as he was jostled to the side by another panicking muggle. “I haven’t the–” he stepped out of the way of a swinging arm– “slightest clue.” 

“We have to get out of here,” Ginevra shouted, a bit too close to his ear. 

Wincing, but not about to argue, Tom followed the littlest Weasley when she ran for the edges of the crowd. They pressed themselves back against a wall of a nearby shop which gave Tom a chance to properly assert the situation. His eyes promptly zeroed in on the two men battling a six feet long Egyptian cobra in the middle of the street. 

Well, at least this was something he knew how to deal with. 

The situation was quickly dealt with. 

Tom flexed his fingers as he left a nearby alley, two confounded men lying on the ground behind him. Walking calmly, carrying a brown snake over his shoulders whit a tail wrapped around his arm, he made his way back to the street they had originally been traversing. Ginevra was trailing after him, Draco cradled in her arms after the viper had fallen of Tom’s shoulder in the scuffle. Of course, Tom had managed to catch Draco with a wandless levitation charm before he hit the ground, but that did not stop the Gryffindor from fussing. 

Tom felt more worried over the state of the cobra as it – he – kept hissing in pain and distress. Tom felt he could not leave the poor thing behind. So, Tom took the cobra back to his room and healed him (because, not to brag, but Tom was exceedingly skilled when it came to healing serpents). 

While preforming a diagnostic charm Tom learned that the snake was malnourished, which could not stand. Thus, Tom and Draco decided that the cobra would go home with them. 

That was how Tom gained yet another snake companion. 

Smuggling two snakes through airport customs could not be _that_ much harder than smuggling one had been, surely. 

oooOOooo 

Hours before they were to depart for Britain, Fred and George were packing up their bags. That was when Ron found out that they had been visiting Harry for weeks. The younger Weasley was not overly pleased. 

“You’ve been going to see Harry _without_ me?!” 

Therefore, the twins found themselves promising to smuggle Harry out of his house and to the Burrow. They had been planning to set up a little quidditch match before the break was over, and as they had gotten permission to invite both current and graduated players. Including Harry in this would only be common curtesy. Not even Dumbledore’s poor reasoning could disclaim that. 

oooOOooo 

Tom had been home for exactly two days when he felt the Wards around the villa flicker. An unauthorised presence had entered the premises. Normally he ignored the wards, as they would go off every time Frances had people over. Which was every other day. Students or co-workers from the university would be stopping by to look over work; police officers that the older woman somehow knew wanted to say hi; acquaintances from her book and/or baking club came over for meetings or the guest were people Frances simply deemed _friends_ and wanted to have over. So, Tom was used to random visitors dropping by. 

But none of these friends had ever come over in the middle of the night. 

Tom sluggishly glanced at the clock beside his bed and only barely held back a sob like groan. 

Three in the morning. 

Who in their right mind would invade another person’s property at three a.m.? 

Tom dragged himself from underneath the covers and got to his feet, leaving Draco and Naja (the smugglers that named him were _really_ unimaginative. Naming the cobra ‘ _cobra_ ’. But Naja liked his name, so who was Tom to change it?) in the bed after having cast a strong Warming Charm over them. He swept himself up within a blanket and then started trekking down the stairs, all the while grumbling about the unfairness of the situation. 

If someone felt it prudent to trespass, did they have to choose this _particular_ night? The one when the only resident of the house was Tom, as all workers had gone home for the day, Walter was on two weeks leave and Mrs Cooper was off handling whatever incident had driven her back to the United Kingdom in the first place. 

Tom had to push his frustration back in order to focus on the presence he could feel moving towards the front of the house. And then it suddenly stopped. He waited for something to happen, but when the intruder did nothing but stand still Tom decided to sneak a peek out the door. But after three minutes of staring out into the darkness (and succinctly allowing the heat to escape. It was even _colder_ inside now) without any intruders revealing themselves, Tom decided to investigate. 

He quickly pulled on his shoes and exchanged his knitted blanket for a coat and then he exited the house. Slowly, Tom moved through the garden heading in the general direction of the disturbance. He grasped his acacia wand where it lay hidden in his pocket while he was debating the merits of using _Homenum revelio_. Tom did not want to use magic out in the open, even if the chances of a muggle being awake at this time was low. If the spell would even work. It might not be a human that had decided to encroach upon his (sort of) property. 

Tom’s mood soured further when it began to drizzle. Glaring up at the black sky filled with storm clouds Tom once again considered using magic, even though he was in a muggle infested area. The thought grew more and more appealing in conjunction with his hair (which was _ginger_. Tom had yet to get over that fact and clothes growing wetter. Tom was just about to cast an umbrella charm, muggle neighbours be damned, when his foot caught upon something and he fell down in the grass. 

“Oh, I am so sorry!” 

Tom rolled over onto his back, simultaneously drawing his wand, which he then pointed at whoever thought tripping him was a sound plan of action. He did not expect to be met only by the leg of this person sticking out from underneath a bush. Following the appendage back to its owner, Tom was met by emerald eyes staring out at him from the greenery. It took a moment for him to place the intruder as he could scantily see anything in the low light, but when he did Tom was baffled. 

“ _Harry_?” 

“Thomas?” 

“What, in the name of Merlin, are you doing underneath the shrubbery?” 

Without waiting for a reply Tom ushered Harry out in the open and began to herd him towards the door, levitating the boy’s trunk them. He unceremoniously led the shivering boy into the kitchen, where he summoned a glass from the shelf, filled it with milk, heated it and then handed it over to his impromptu guest. Turning on the lamp Tom finally took the time to study Harry. Tom could only describe the Gryffindor’s appearance as pitiful; dirty with water slowly dripping from both his clothes and hair onto the floor. 

Tom intoned a drying- and warming charm in short order. 

“Now, how come you were hiding in my garden, Harry?” Tom asked gently while he began to pull little twigs out of the birds nest the Gryffindor called hair. 

“I blew up my aunt,” Harry mumbled weakly. 

“…You did _what_?” 

“I said I blew up my aunt!” 

Tom simply stared at Harry, speechless. 

His lack of response triggered a literal flood of words from the younger boy, explanation tumbling out of his companion’s mouth so fast Tom only managed to catch the last bit. “–wasn’t like she didn’t deserve it.” And then the fire went out of Harry, his eyes turning big as he gazed up at Tom imploringly. “Thomas, what am I supposed to _do_? They’ll kick me out of Hogwarts for this. It’s my _home_.” 

“…” 

Well. This was a tricky situation, wasn’t it? Would be a bit of a conundrum to solve. 

Now, Tom _had_ , technically, gotten away with murder before. Although he strongly doubted he would manage to transfer the blame onto someone else this time. He was having a hard time spinning a conceivable reason for why Harry’s relative would spontaneously combust. 

Honestly, Harry’s best bet was probably getting himself a capable defence lawyer. The Gryffindor would not get into _that much_ trouble for this. Probably. He _was_ underage, after all, and you could not blame a minor for a little burst of accidental magic (because this was _Harry_. Tom was like 99% sure that the entire ‘blowing aunt into itty bitty bitts’ thing had been unintentional). 

If worst came to worst and Harry got his wand broken and thrown out of Hogwarts it was not like the boy could not get a new wand and transfer to Durmstrang Institute or something. 

Tom was about to reassure Harry with these facts, and maybe get to work on finding that solicitor, when a loud crack came from the other side of the back door. The one that led from the kitchen into the back garden. Not even a second later the ward-alarms went off in his head informing him that even _more_ people had arrived. Redundant as that information was, seeing as he could _see_ the shapes moving outside the window. Tom got up from his chair angrily and made his way towards the door. Had people nothing more pressing to do than intrude upon his well-deserved rest at this ungodly hour? 

Salazar, but Tom _needed_ a cup of coffee. It was way too early for him to even consider dealing with this mess without any caffeine. 

He threw the front door open, fully intending to tear into whoever had decided to pay him a visit in the middle of the night. Only he did not manage to get out more than an irritated huff before he had been pushed aside by a pair of hysterical twins. The two Gryffindor’s had scarcely crossed the threshold before frantically beginning to speak. 

“Harry is missing.” 

“No one knows where he is!” 

“Which would be fine, you know we would not begrudge him for running away from that place. But there is a _murderer_ on the lose!” 

“And said murderer is after our favourite Seeker.” 

“Harry’s here,” Tom stated flatly. 

“We need your help!” 

“We _have_ to find him!” 

“Or he’ll get _slaughtered_!” 

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation; his statement had obviously fallen on deaf ears. 

Tom exhaled, trying to keep calm. It was way, _way_ too early for this. “I said,” Tom began, raising his voice to get the attention of the twins, “Harry is already here!” He motioned towards the table. “Right behind you, in fact. Now, pull yourselves together, for Merlin’s sake.” 

The red-haired menaces turned as one, staring at Harry, who had been observing the proceeding with bemusement. Tom supposed he would have appreciated it if the boy could have _spoken up_ instead of leaving Tom to deal with a hysterical pair of Weasley twins on his own, but Tom would grant Harry leeway this time. Considering that he had just accidentally killed his aunt and all. And then there was the alleged _murder_ running around. 

Both Fred and George threw themselves at Harry, asking if he was alright and checking him over for injuries with murmured diagnostic spells. With Mr Weasley’s wand, Tom noted absentmindedly. 

It was a very nice sentiment, wanting to establish the boy’s health, but there were more pressing matters to deal with. Like helping Harry escape charges of manslaughter, for example. 

Tom coughed pointedly. “Now, while I would dearly like to know what the ‘murderer after Harry’ business is about, there is a more pressing matter at hand. Harry is, after all, perfectly safe here. I doubt _this_ is the first place someone goes to look for him. And the villa is protected from scrying.” He then turned his full attention on Harry. “No, what we need to do is get you a lawyer who can deal with you having killed your aunt.” Tom paused for a moment, thinking. The twins had a solicitor, did they not? That man probably knew who to employ. Wizarding Britain was small enough that people moving in the same circles all knew each other. Or maybe the Goblins could get Tom in contact with a defence lawyer? They did have an entire team of them, after all. 

Merlin, Tom had been out of the game for too long to know who to ask for. 

His musings were brought to a short by Harry’s voice. “Ahem, my aunt is probably alive? I think?” 

“You _think_ she survived you blowing her into smithereens?” Tom questioned critically. 

“I didn’t mean it like _that_. I blew her up like a balloon! Not – not like a _bomb_ or anything!” Harry exclaimed. “I got out of there before Uncle Vernon could get to me, so I don’t actually know what happened,” he added somewhat sheepishly. 

Tom exhaled, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples wearily. Sometimes, Tom despaired over the communication skills of those around him. “Well then. If that is the case, you have got nothing to worry about. At most, you will get a warning and a slap at the wrist. Merlin, I thought I would have to help you get–” away with murder, Tom thought– “a lawyer,” Tom finished. 

“Oh. That’s good. Right?” 

“So it would seem.” 

Harry nodded. A moment later he stilled, slowly turning towards the twins. He tilted his head in question, a somewhat confounded look on his face. “Wait… did you say that there is a murdererafter me? As in; someone is after me _again_.” 

“Yes,” George responded. 

“Dad just told us,” Fred elaborated. “Sirius Black, former Death Eater, escaped from Azkaban a couple of days ago. I don’t know why the ministry did not disclose it before now–” 

Tom scoffed. Yeah right, a true mystery. Not. 

“–but his escape will become common knowledge by tomorrow evening.” 

After that little conversation, Fred Apparated back home (with the ‘borrowed’ wand) and returned half an hour later, accompanied by his father and two Aurors. 

Not long after they were joined by a solicitor and the Minister himself (to whom Tom took an instant dislike. Surely, it was impossible to be _that stupid_ and still gain the highest rank in Magical Britain’s governing body. _Surely_ ). And then someone was sent off to find Frances Cooper and Molly Weasley. 

Tom lamented the hours of sleep he was missing. 

But at least someone had been kind enough to bring along caffeine. 

By five a.m. Tom and Mrs Cooper had gained a houseguest for what remained of the summer holiday. Which was unexpected, actually, but Harry was out of _that_ house, so Tom was not going to complain. 

oooOOooo 

George smiled, feeling inordinately pleased with himself. Continuing to smile, he wrote down the latest changes he had done to the size-changing candy recipe before he placed the Grimoire of Pranks on Fred’s desk. The summer had been nothing if not productive. He and Fred had managed to create some fantastic prank products, if he did say so himself. And thanks to Frances Cooper, they had also had time to test said inventions, wherefore the Grimoire had been filled with new spells, potion recipes, clever runes sequences and, of course, combinations of all three. 

George was forcefully snapped out of his thoughts by a loud screech coming from Percy. Which was closely followed by his mother screaming “ _George_!” at the top of her lungs. 

On his way down he was met by a sky-blue and very glittery Percy walking up the stairs (so, the Colour Changing Glitter Gun was working splendidly. Any object hit by a bullet changed colour and started to glitter – if the name was not enough of a hint. Thank Merlin for the General Counter-Spell. Without that spell to reverse the bullets’ effects all objects residing in his and Fred’s room would be considerably more colourful then they were. And let’s not even talk about their own appearances; without a reversal spell the two of them would look like walking, twinkling rainbows at this point). As he and Percy passed each other George mumbled “ _Finite Incantatem_ ” under his breath. 

He had just reached the ground floor when he caught the end of one of his mother’s famous lectures. 

“– wish you would do something _useful_ with that brain of yours! You might even manage a decent grade! If you only applied yourself, George,” his mother finished in a chiding tone. 

George came to a halt and sighed tiredly. Seconds later Fred came out of the kitchen and joined him by the stairs, an identical look of exasperation on his face. “At least she did not ground me. Well, ground _you_ , I suppose,” Fred said. 

“She knows we’d sneak out and join them in Diagon anyway. No point in grounding us.” 

“I think it has more to do with Black being on the loose. No one want’s their children to run around unaccompanied with a Death Eater running around.” 

George inclined his head in concession. “You’ve got a point. I suppose we should thank Black for us being allowed to visit Diagon Alley tomorrow.” 

Fred rolled his eyes. “Sure, brother.” 

oooOOooo 

Tom was sitting in one of the leather armchairs in the library, reading a book on warding he had bought in Egypt, when Harry entered the room. The boy had a look of someone on a mission, walking determinately towards Tom. 

“I want to pay back the cost of the food you brought me during the holiday when we go to Diagon tomorrow.” 

Tom was not overly surprised by this statement, what with Harry insisting on repaying him and the twins every time they had turned up with provisions. At this point, Tom was starting to feel like a broken record as he kept on assuring Harry that neither Tom nor the twins required any reimbursement. 

“You are a thirteen-year-old and should not have to pay for essentials like food yourself,” Tom stated simply before he went back to his book. Harry sat down next to him, staring defiantly Tom’s way until he once again looked up at the Gryffindor. “I’ve said it before, and I will say it again; you do not have to trouble yourself with this matter.” 

“Well, I _want_ to. It’s not like I haven’t got the money for it.” 

“Money that is supposed to pay for your schooling, Harry.” 

“But the twins are trying to save up for a Prank Shop! I heard them talking about it. They used their savings to feed me. I can’t let them do that!” 

Tom thought the matter over while Harry held his gaze. Salazar, but was that boy stubborn. He was not going to give up, was he? With an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh, Tom capitulated. “Have it your way, then. But only the amount the twins paid for, nothing more.” Harry looked ready to argue the point, but Tom held up a finger, silencing him. “I do not need your money, but if you insist you can pay me back when we are both adults. Yes? Good. Now, I will get the twins’ share into their vault while we visit the magical district. Happy?” 

“How? Don’t you need a key to access another’s vault?” 

“That is correct.” 

“…So, you have the key to Fred and George’s vault, then?” 

“Not as such, no.” 

Harry frowned slightly. “But how–” 

Tom petted Harry’s head, in a manner that was in _no way_ condescending. “Don’t you worry. I have my ways.” 

oooOOooo 

Fred was stretched out on the sofa with Tom’s cobra laying coiled up on his stomach, taking advantage of his body heat. The snake, Naja, had been less than pleased when he and George arrived at Mrs Cooper’s house, hissing at them angrily since _someone_ almost stepped on its tail. But the cobra had warmed up to both of them fairly quickly. The two of them could say _eleven entire words_ in Parseltongue now, after all. That did count fairly high amongst the snakes. 

But he supposed he could not blame George entirely for the tail-mishap. Their journey to Diagon Alley earlier in the day had been particularly draining. All the school-bound Weasleys, Tom and Ron’s friends had gone to Diagon for school supplies earlier that day. Not to mention that half the Hogwarts student body as was running around the alley as well. The number of last-minute shoppers had been tiring. 

But at least Fred got some entertainment out of the ordeal, mainly at Ron’s expense. 

Their mother had not wanted to leave Ron and his friends to wander around alone with Black still on the loose and had thus asked him and George to watch the wee Gryffindors. So, when the “Golden Trio” (it was a catchy name, why not use it?) set off towards the Magical Menagerie to buy supplies for Harry’s snake, John, the two of them had tagged along as well. 

They barely had time to enter the shop before Hermione vanished off into the feline section, returning minutes later carrying a (frankly terrifying) half-Kneazle. Which had been when the fun began. Ron had what some might call a _small outburst_ (and what others might call giant tantrum) on behalf of Scabbers II as the half-Kneazle’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the rat in Ron’s hands. 

The ginger cat had leapt towards said rat, claws extended. 

In the end, it was all very anticlimactic. Instead of eating the rodent Crookshanks (as the half-Kneazle was named) and Scabbers II started cuddling. The two animals became fast friends. Of course, Ickle-Ronnikins had to spend the rest of the trip grovelling to appease Hermione’s irritation. She had not enjoyed Ron’s ‘baseless accusations’. 

Fred was entertained. 

However, both he and George had decided to take refuge at Tom’s place as soon as the entire ordeal was over (after convincing their mother to let Harry stay at the Burrow for the night. _You’re welcome_ , Ron). Even with the small laps of humour they caught while visiting the menagerie the rest of the trip had left Fred drained. 

He had no intension of moving off the sofa anytime in the near future. 

George walked into the room, carrying a bowl of muggle crisps and popcorn, followed by a crestfallen Tom (who had tried to prevent them from going to the video store, but in the end was unsuccessful) carrying the VHS for _Beauty and the Beast_. 

Fred was grinning by the time the movie ended, gleefully contemplating the beginning of a plan. 

Tom began to thump his head against the back of the sofa, before he turned to glare tiredly at Fred and George. “You are going to force me to help you recreate this mess, aren’t you?” Tom said, resignation clear in his voice. 

“Well, if you’re _volunteering_.” 

Tom’s glare intensified before he sighed, and his scowl turned into a look of consideration. “It could turn out to be a stimulating challenge. Making everything move in tandem… hmm. I suppose I am not averse to the idea of lending you a hand. Although you realise this might take us all year, no?” 

George’s lips stretched into a grin. “You do so like a proper challenge, don’t you, Tom?” 

Fred stopped listening after that, as he was fully occupied with figuring out just how one might go about making the utensils in the Great Hall dance. 

oooOOooo 

With only days to spare before the students of Hogwarts were expected back at school, the long-anticipated Gryffindor quidditch match was to be held, with both alumni and current player on the team in attendance. 

(This summer George, Fred and Angelina had spent a bit too much of their time on sending out letters. A copious number of letters. Quite a preposterously big amount, really) Thankfully, with everyone bringing their equipment and food the expenses were minimal. 

With Angelina behind the wheel of the whole operation, the preparation went fairly smoothly. 

So, on the 28th of August, thirty-two Gryffindors could be found out on the field behind the Burrow playing quidditch matches over the course of the day. George found that he greatly enjoyed playing on the randomized teams, that changed after every match, with his fellow lions. 

Not to mention that he got to watch thirteen-year-old Harry run circles around wizards and witches ten years his senior. It was beyond entertaining. 

oooOOooo 

“Even you have to admit that this is ridiculous, Tom.” 

George looked down at the things spread out over his (newly acquired) cousin’s bed with bemusement. There were no less than three thick comforters, a patchwork quilt _and_ three knitted blankets (all in various shades of green and silver. Seemed as if Tom had _expectations_ ). And let’s not even get started on all the pullovers and thick sweaters lying there next to the two dozen socks Tom had bought over the summer. Cloaks, boots, mittens, knitted caps, scarves… the list went on and on and _on_. 

It looked like Tom was moving to Siberia, not Scotland. 

“You can’t possibly need all of this. You have heard of Warming Charms, haven’t you?” 

Tom glowered in George’s direction before transferring his glare over to Fred (who had been the one to speak in the first place, why was _George_ getting glared at?). “Of course, I know. But do you think I want to reapply them every other hour once autumn sets in? I need my magical reserves for more important things.” 

Tom then started mumbling about Slytherin being located in the dungeons, frostbite and what sounded suspiciously like a scheme to drown both him and Fred. George glanced at his twin, and in mutual (if silent) agreement they both decided to lay off. They could always tease Tom later. When he was in a less murderous mood. 

Someone was not overly pleased with having to retake their fifth year, it seemed. 

Maybe they should give Tom another quilt for Christmas. Embroidered with runes of tranquillity, perhaps. It might do Tom well. 


	10. Chapter 10

Tom huffed in displeasure. Finally, he managed to drag his trunk into an empty compartment and closed the door behind him, a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. But Tom was annoyed and frankly could not care less about handling the door carefully. 

This was not how Tom’s morning was supposed to have gone. He had had it all planned out! But even though he and Harry had arrived early there was a lot of people roaming around the station and inside the train itself. Because of this Tom had been unable to use either of his wands and had thus been forced to haul his trunk along _manually_. Tom was not built for manual labour. He was a _wizard_ , for Merlin’s sake, he should not be required to do this! 

At least he had had enough foresight to cast a Featherlight Charm on it before leaving home. Small mercies. 

Now, blessedly hidden from the rest of the Hogwarts students and their assorted families, he could remove his silver lime wand (his acacia hidden away in the trunk, along with some other items the school might find _troubling_ ). A swift flick was all it took to levitate his trunk and his snakes’ terrarium (Naja inside, sleeping peacefully) onto the racket above the seats. Task completed; Tom sat down in the seat closest to the window, careful not to jostle Draco who was resting on his shoulder. 

With twenty minutes to fill before the train was to leave the station, Tom decided to remove _Duelling for Dummies, Volume 8_ , a book on the basics of nonverbal spells, from his pocket (he did so enjoy extension charms) and settled more comfortably in his seat and began to read. While he took some notes with his right hand in the margins (with a fountain pen. Tom was not using _feather_ _quills_ , dripping monstrosities that they were) while he absentmindedly petted Draco with his left. 

Tom was crossing out an embarrassingly incorrect sentence in the book when the train whistle blew, signalling their imminent departure. 

A couple of minutes after the train began to move Fred and George poked their heads into Tom’s compartment, calling out a greeting, before they were off again. Thankfully. Tom had become quite invested in his book at this point and did not appreciate their insistent chattering breaking his concentration. 

Well, Tom supposed the twins might also have left because he had threatened them with bodily harm, but that was neither here nor there. 

Hours later, filled with (blessedly) unbroken silence, Tom was pulled out of his examination and revision of _Duelling for Dummies, Volume 8_ by the sound of the door being pushed open. Tom glanced up with a polite expression to find a tall boy, about his age, backing into his compartment. He held a big folder under a muscled arm (no doubt _he_ did not have any problems dragging bothersome trunks onto the train, Tom thought surly). He did appear somewhat winded, Tom noted, breathing hard as if he had been running. 

Not particularly bright either, from the looks of it. The boy had not even noticed Tom yet. Not to talk about walking into rooms _backwards_. 

That was when the boy threw the door closed and turned on his heel, his brown eyes meeting Tom’s and widening fractionally. 

He then gave Tom an apologetic smile (it looked sincere enough one might easily believe it to be real. But Tom recognised a false front when he saw one. After all, he himself applied them constantly). “Sorry, I did not notice that this compartment was already taken. Would you mind terribly if I simply… disillusionedmyself in that corner for a minute?” 

Before Tom had the chance to answer the sound of commotion made both of them startle slightly, and the brown-haired boy promptly unsheathed his wand and murmured an incantation, disappearing from sight. 

Moments later the door was once again hauled open. By yet another boy. This one just as tall as the last one, although he was far more brutish looking (you should not judge a book by its cover, that was a known fact. A fact Tom followed zealously, always assessing the inside, not the outside. When it came to _books_ , that is. Tom felt perfectly justified in criticizing those around him based on their appearance. They had _magic_. If you had the power to make aggravations like acne disappear, whyever would you chose _not_ to? Take this brute; he should be capable of correcting his, quite frankly, _hideous_ teeth. Really, the fact that he had been unable to do so only served to illustrate evident inaptitude with spellcasting. So, Tom was _judging_. Sue him). 

The (unattractive) boy did a quick sweep of the compartment, anger clear on his face, while Tom watched on dispassionately. After finding nothing the boy bared his crooked teeth in a snarl, before sweeping out of Tom’s compartment without speaking a word. 

The sheer _impoliteness_ of people living in the ‘90s was astounding. 

As soon as the door closed the brown-haired intruder reappeared in the corner next to the window, wearing a pleased smirk directed at where the furious boy had stood seconds ago. 

“I apologise for that,” the now visible boy said. “Some people simply have no manners. Which reminds me; Miles Bletchley, a pleasure to meet you.” Smiling genially the boy offered his right hand. 

Tom smiled back ( _sincerely_ , of course). “Thomas Gaunt-Prewett. And the pleasure is all mine.” The newly introduced Miles Bletchley showed no reaction at Tom’s surnames, but his gaze lingered at the blue snake in Tom’s lap, strongly implying the boy recognized the surnames (Tom felt like applauding him. It was not often he met someone who could control their expressions as well as Tom could). Although Tom could not say if Bletchley’s pronounced _non_ -reaction was a result of the impressive implications the Gaunt name held (like, for example, them being descendants of Slytherin himself) or if it stemmed from the utter implausibility of a _Gaunt_ and a _Prewett_ deciding to copulate. 

The notion of the later happening was both absurd and profoundly alarming. 

(Damn those twins and there appallingly lacking imagination when it came to coming up with suitable fake names on the spot) 

Deciding that he did _not_ want to linger on the thought for even a moment longer, Tom chose to change the subject. 

“Friend of yours?” Tom asked, motioning towards the door. 

“Thank Merlin, no,” Bletchley said with a faux shudder. “Although we are both on the Slytherin quidditch team. He’s a skilled player, to be sure, but not always the fastest broom in the shed, if you know what I mean. Somewhat of a brute. Sadly, he also happens to be our current captain.” 

“I see.” 

Tom expected Bletchley to leave, but instead, the boy sat down in the seat opposite Tom’s. “Say, are you a transfer student? I haven’t seen you around and, well, you’re obviously not a first year.” 

Tom adopted a solemn face. “I recently moved here from Germany. My mother died a couple of months and–” Tom added an almost soundless sniff– “with no relatives alive in my homeland I decided to move in with my great-Aunt.” 

“Well… welcome to England. I am sorry for your loss.” 

Tom took a deep breath, ‘centring’ himself, and gave Bletchley a faint smile. “I appreciate it.” 

Bletchley fidgeted, and Tom held back a pleased grin behind the veneer of the grieving son. He did so enjoy making people uncomfortable in socially acceptable ways. 

Tom’s entertainment was cut short by a Slytherin prefect opening the door. 

Had a curse been placed on Tom’s compartment? It was a distinct possibility, Tom thought irritably as _yet another_ boy entered the room. The boy in question was noticeably taller than Bletchley, but slenderer and with hair a lighter shade of brown. He was also regarding Bletchley with profound exasperation, although Tom could spot fondness in his grey eyes. The new intruder gave Tom a polite nod before turning all his attention back on Bletchley. 

He gave Bletchley a scathing glare. “What did you do?” 

Bletchley looked perfectly innocent, without a hint of the previous smirk to be found on his face, but the prefect appeared highly unimpressed. 

Bletchley glanced around the room searchingly, looking left then right. The prefect scoffed pointedly whereupon Bletchley gave a surprised gasp, pointing at himself. “What, _me_? I would never do anything that’d require the intervention of a prefect.” 

“Oh? Then I suppose you had nothing to do with Flint storming down the train. 

“Why, Adrian, are you _accusing_ me of something?” 

The prefect rolled his eyes. “ _Yes_ , Miles. Who else would it have been?” 

“Maybe Elestren stole his pet again?” 

“ _Miles_. What. Did. You. Do?” 

“Hypothetically, if Flint was to change the line-up for this year for the worse, giving him some incentive to alter his plans would be the logical plan of action. Emphasis on hypothetically, of course. I would never resort to extortion. But you know who would? Elestren Parkinson,” Bletchley finished, still wearing the innocent look. 

The prefect sighed. “Why do I even try?” he mumbled. The boy – Adrian – turned his attention to Tom, exhaling his irritation in a breath and putting on a smile. “Hello, sorry for barging in. Adrian Pucey,” he offered, extending his right hand. 

“Thomas Gaunt-Prewett.” 

After greeting Pucey, Tom gave him a similar run-through of the reason behind his suddenly attending Hogwarts. With Tom being ‘new’ to the school, both boys offered to answer any questions he might have. Tom decided to take them up on the offer, if only because he felt like making some connections with other Slytherins. 

Of course, Tom was already familiar with the inner workings of Hogwarts, either from his first time around attending or from interrogating Fred and George. 

Thankfully, Tom deftly steered the conversation onto more interesting topics. Like the fact that Black managed to escape Azkaban. Although in the end, they spent most of their time criticizing the ministry. 

Well, there was nothing like mutual dislike to forge new relations. 

Granted, Tom was currently plotting how to subtly dispose of one of his new acquaintances, so it might not be very strong relations he was forging. 

“Well, this was nice,” the maddening entity known as Miles Bletchley said as he rose from his seat. “I suppose I shall be seeing you in class, _GP_ ,” he drawled, emphasizing the botched pronunciation of the surname he had insisted on shortening. Tom gritted his teeth; Bletchley calling him _Yippee_ was not enough of a reason to resort to murder. Tom had _just_ gotten a new and, more importantly, _clean_ identity. He did not waste multiple crates of Goblin-wrought silver one it just to throw it away. But oh, how Tom _wanted_. 

(But if _someone_ were to slip a potion to induce horrifying nightmares into Bletchley’s drinks for the next week…) 

Pucey, noticing Tom’s reaction at the moniker before Tom managed to smooth it over completely, gave an apologetic smile. Then he too got to his feet, before glancing out the window. Tom followed his gaze and winced at the storm that was raging outside (storms were _cold_ ). He had barely taken notice of it darkening outside. 

Pucey followed Bletchley towards the door. “It was nice meeting you, but Miles has got the right idea. We’re almost at Hogwarts, so it’s high time we got back to our comp–” Pucey quieted as the train suddenly began to slow down. “…that can’t be right. We shouldn’t have arrived yet.” 

Tom glanced down at his watch as they continued to lose speed. “We should not be arriving for another twenty minutes,” Tom agreed. More students must have noticed the discrepancy, as Tom could hear doors opening along the train and the muted voices of students asking each other what was going on was easily heard through the closed compartment door. Noticing Tom’s unease, Draco slithered up his arm and settled on his shoulders. 

“ _What has got you acting like spooked pray?_ ” Draco hissed into his ear. 

Tom frowned. “ _A premonition. Something is not right_ ,” he hissed back quietly. 

Pucey shoved in front of Bletchley, opening the door to peer out of the compartment. He turned his head to the right, where he seemed to notice something that made him frown. “I don’t suppose the two of you had something to do with this?” Pucey called down the train 

“While we’re pleased that you think so highly of us–” 

“– and our abilities, the answer to that question is no. We have yet to figure out a way to tinker with the train.” 

“Not that we would, of course!” 

The voices were becoming more distinct as the speakers moved towards them. 

“Exactly. Education is important.” 

“We wouldn’t want to interfere with that, would we brother?” 

“Of course not, brother.” 

Getting up from his seat as well, Tom made to stand next to Pucey. Tom just caught sight of Fred and George’s heads as the duo arrived by the compartment, before the train ground to a sudden halt making him wobble straight into Pucey. The entire train was thrown into darkness and Tom cursed. He blindly reached for the luggage rack next to him and righted himself. 

“What in the world…” Tom mumbled before grabbing his wand, lighting the tip with a nonverbal _lumos_. He could hear similar exclamations and questions coming from others in the corridor. 

With a thought he put more magic into the spell, illuminating the interior of the compartment. He studied the perplexed expressions of those around him. 

Fred gave all of them a jaunty wave as he entered the compartment. “Well, this is ominous. Can’t imagine that was a good sign.” 

“You think?” Tom said sarcastically. 

“Yes.” 

George followed his brother inside. “I believe you are right, Gred. I think we saw a horror movie with this exact premise, like, a week ago.” 

“We will be fine as long as we don’t split up, remember? That’s what they say, at least,” Fred said, still smiling cheerfully. 

“Hey, guys?” Bletchley said from within the compartment. Tom turned around to look at the boy who was peering out the window. “Something is moving outside the train.” 

George and Fred rushed over to the window. Not that Tom thought they would be able to see much of anything, the rain was pouring down outside obscuring everything. 

“Maybe it’s Sirius Black,” George suggested. 

A yelp was heard as Pucey cuffed the Gryffindor. “Don’t joke about that.” 

“…Well, whoever it is, I believe they are boarding the train,” Fred announced, the grin finally falling off his face to be replaced by something resembling wariness. 

Tom leaned out of the compartment door and peered down the train, letting the light of his wand brighten further. He almost jumped out of his skin when he caught sight of the hooded figure at the end of the car. Tom instantly drew back, pulling the door closed behind him. After further consideration he cast the strongest locking charm he knew on it as well, plunging them all into darkness until he once again re-lit his wand. 

“Well, no need to wonder further. Our visitor is a dementor. And it is indeed aboard the train,” Tom said, his voice steady even as he began to feel dread growing in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t suppose anyone knows the Patronus Charm?” 

As he spoke the temperature sank steadily until his breath began to mist in front of him. Tom had to focus intently on holding still and not shiver in the cold. 

Bletchley was regarding the door with a blank expression, but Tom noticed how tense his shoulders had become. “Not as such, no.” All the same, the five of them all raised their wands, keeping them pointed at the entrance. 

Pucey frowned, shuddering slightly as the temperature sank even lower. “What are they doing away from Azkaban?” 

They all fell silent when the dark shape of the dementor materialised outside the door. It was with dread the five boys watched as the door began to rattle. The insistent shaking got progressively more forceful, but Tom’s spell continued to hold. 

Then the first dementor was joined by a second one. 

Tom cursed. Why had someone thought it wise to equip the train with Anti-Apparition wards, again? He did not relish the fact that he was stuck in a cramped space with no way out and dementors ready and willing to suck out his soul if they managed to break in. Tom had worked _very hard_ to repair said soul and was in no rush to lose it, thank you very much. 

At this point, all of them had begun to tremble slightly, the cold and the feeling of absolute anxiety brought on by the creatures’ presence permeating the air around them. 

“We are going to be turned into soulless husks.” 

“ _Thank you_ , Miles. Your optimism is truly uplifting,” Pucey bit out. He then started layering a locking spell onto the one Tom had cast. 

“Admirable, even,” George said faintly, following Pucey’s initiative and added his own charm to the mix. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, brother.” 

Tom said nothing, focusing his attention on maintaining his own spell in the face of the shivers creeping down his spine. Dealing with Dementor induced fear _and_ the unrelenting barrage on the door was no simple task. At least Draco had the sense to stay quiet and let Tom _concentrate_. 

Suddenly, Tom saw a white light outside the compartment. 

“Oh, thank Merlin,” he breathed out, watching as what could only be a Patronus drove the dementors back. 

The silence in the compartment was deafening, the five boys holding their breaths. 

“…Are they gone?” Fred whispered. 

Furtively Tom removed the spells and cracked the door open. After ascertaining that the dementors were, indeed, gone all of them let out identical sighs of relief. 

Pucey near immediately stalked out the compartment onwards to the prefect carriage, stopping once before he exited the car to help some younger children. Tom could still glimpse the other boy at the end of the carriage when the lamps abruptly turned on. The train began to move as if nothing had happened. 

With the danger seemingly over, Bletchley also bid them farewell before he too wandered off. 

Tom was about to sit down when a thought struck him. “…What about the little ones?” 

George suddenly lost all colour. “ _Oh no_.” 

Tom and the twins swiftly made their way down the train in order to check up on the younger Weasleys and assorted trouble magnet friends. 

After three of minutes of pushing through the still alarmed student body of Hogwarts, they found who they were looking for; Ginevra, Ronald, Harry, Hermione Granger, a boy Tom had never met before but who was introduced as Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood (the girl who, together with Ginevra, had taken over Frances’ sitting room to watch muggle films during the latter part of the break. Tom supposed he did not find her company disagreeable. Lovegood had an excellent taste when it came to some of the subtler parts of the magical arts. Like _divination_ , for example. Keeping this in mind, Tom could tolerate her nonsensical – if sometimes insightful, he was loath to admit – observations). All the children were badly shaken up. 

Tom found that he did not _like_ them being upset since it, in turn, made _him_ upset. Whatever was causing this inane feeling of discomfort plaguing Tom, he was sure that it was, in some way, related to the twins. Tom blamed them wholeheartedly for the debacle. Not that being aware of the _cause_ made the uncomfortable _effects_ of the affliction any easier to deal with. Those he wanted _gone_. 

He was sure that making the children look less like they would shake out of their boots would be a step in the right direction to accomplish this goal. 

Granted, Tom’s ability to comfort distressed children was somewhat… _lacking_. Well, to be honest, Tom was not sure he had the ability to comfort _anyone_ , period. 

But Tom had always been a brilliant actor. He had watched enough people soothe others to know what he was supposed to do. It was all about staying calm and validating the other’s feelings, right? Tom could show empathy… or at least imitate and replicate the motions. 

Like asking what happened, for example. 

Which was how he, and the twins, learned that a dementor had entered the youngers’ compartment. But then a professor (most probably, it was somewhat unclear just who this person was, actually) had driven the creature away. 

Thankfully it seemed that Fred and George, at least, knew how to calm others down. As soon as Granger began to retell the story, with _helpful_ interjections from the rest of the group, Fred produced eight bars of chocolate from within a pouch and started handing them out, all the while joking around with George and lightening the mood further. 

They arrived at Hogsmeade Station shortly thereafter. Tom tucked in Draco in safely beneath his shirt before he skilfully skirted around the first years and followed the rest of the student body towards the carriages. Tom did not even entertain the thought of taking one of the boats across the lake in the downpour. No, Tom jumped into a carriage (with aroof. And walls _. Unlike boats_ ), closely followed by Fred, George and their friend Lee Jordan. 

When the carriage stopped, Tom jumped down. His steps squelched as he walked over the soggy ground, wincing as the mud got onto his new shoes. Not wanting to stay in the storm any longer than necessary Tom strode towards the entrance under the cover of an umbrella spell. He and Draco hissed out identical sighs of relief when they entered the warmth of the castle. Although Tom had barely taken a step into the Entrance Hall before he heard one of the twins swear behind him. 

He turned around and raised a brow at the still swearing – George, it turned out. “What?” 

“Professor McGonagall is giving us the stink eye.” 

Tom followed the other boy’s gaze and found his eyes meeting those of and an older and austere looking witch who was already moving towards them. 

“Mr Gaunt-Prewett?” 

“Yes, professor?” 

Tom found himself herded to the side of the Entrance Hall by the professor, older students passing by in droves. Tom grimaced slightly at the thought of having displeased yet _another_ Transfiguration professor upon first meeting. At least this one did not pretend to set his belongings on fire. 

In spite of their less than ideal introduction Tom was sure he had made it back into the older witch’s good graces by the time the loud thumping on the castle door rang through the now empty Hall. Professor McGonagall was much more agreeable than _Dumbledore_ and Tom quite enjoyed their discussion on Gamp’s Law. 

Tom gave a small but smug smile when the professor opened the giant oak doors and the sodden first years entered, dripping water all over the floor and shivering. _This_ was why you took the carriages. Spotting it as the perfect opportunity to rise even higher in the professor’s opinion that it was, Tom helpfully began to aid the witch in her efforts to dry the eleven-year-olds. 

Though Tom’s mood did sour slightly when they were led into the Great Hall. Tom was above average height and was thus _somewhat_ conspicuous when stood in a sea of tiny first years. He did manage to not roll his eyes when the small beings gawped while taking in the floating candles and the storm raging above them, clearly visible through the enchanted ceiling. 

Tom gazed up at the High Table and his eyes immediately zeroed in on Dumbledore (whose sense of style had seemingly become _even_ _worse_ since his time as Deputy-Headmaster). Although the Sorting Hat burst into song in that exact moment, and Tom diverted his attention towards the animated headgear along with everybody else in the Hall. It was singing an unusually uplifting song this year, which was rather nice. 

Not that this made Tom any more inclined to enjoy the tedious event that was the sorting. By the time they reached F his feet had begun to hurt from standing around. 

“Gaunt-Prewett, Thomas.” 

Cue the staring. 

Oh, but Dumbledore’s widened eyes and concerned frown was rather entertaining. Tom knew he was recognisable, even with some of the changes brought on by the twins’ weird ritual he _did_ resemble the Original. Tom could not hold back a small smirk when the old coot paled at taking in Tom’s appearance. Who knew what was going through his senile head? 

This situation did give Tom a significant opportunity to make the wizard’s life a little more _stressful_ , did it not? 

It had the possibility to bring quite a lot of delight into Tom’s life. 

Tom was still smirking at the thought when he took his seat, having to bend his legs awkwardly and thus not sitting overly comfortably. The chair was not made for people of his stature. Without further ado Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head, upon which said hat let out a sound of surprise. 

“ _In all my years at Hogwarts, I do not think I have ever met something quite like you, my child. Yes, quite unusual. If you ever find yourself in the Headmaster’s office, do stop by my shelf and say hello._ ” 

‘It would be my honour,’ Tom projected back. 

“ _Now, where to place you… quite courageous–_ ” 

‘Do _not_ finish that sentence,’ Tom all but hissed out in his head. _Him_ , a _Gryffindor_? If the hat had the nerve to place him amongst those berks Tom would drench it in muggle alcohol, hit it with _fiendfyre_ , whereupon he would throw what little remained of the hat into the lake to be feasted upon by the fish. Which he told it in painstaking detail. 

Not that the hat seemed overly faced by his threats, reacting with a long-suffering sigh of one who had to deal with the same thing every year. “ _As I was saying – brave, but you value cunning and self-preservation far higher. And a penchant for plotting._ ” __

Tom supposed he _might_ have overreacted. A little bit (but _Gryffindor_ ). 

“ _Indeed_ ,” the hat thought tolerantly.“ _Well, there is no need to take up any more time. You are a clear –_ Slytherin!” 

Tom got up from the stool and made his way over to Pucey, who was ushering those next to him to make room, as people clapped politely. 

“Welcome to the House of Serpents, Yippee,” Bletchley said while Tom settled down across from him. Tom’s eyebrow _twitched_. 

When the sorting was over, Tom introduced himself to the students in his proximity. A quiet sense of contentment settled over him as he conversed with his fellow Snakes. Not to say that being around Gryffindors was _necessarily_ bad (when it came to a _select_ few) but being among his fellow Slytherins was like a breath of fresh air. 

Subterfuge was good for the soul. 

The feast was far less jovial than it normally was, but the abundance of chocolate went quite a way to cheer the student body up. 

Tom was enjoying himself. 

Except that he had, somehow, ended up surrounded by quidditch fanatics. 

oooOOooo 

Fred and George were eating breakfast at the end of the Gryffindor table. George was stuffing an apple and a slice of toast for Lee, who was still asleep, into his bag when Parkinson suddenly sat down across from them. Well, at least Fred got _one_ evening of peace before the Harpy descended (that is, if one could count the train being boarded by dementors as _calm_ ). 

“Hello, boys. I’ve got a proposal. Or, I suppose I have got _two_ proposals, but that doesn’t sound as dramatic.” After giving them a charming, if slightly manic, smile she took three rolls of parchment out of her bag. Shoving the plates in front of her out of the way she then placed them on the table. “This first one,” she said, pointing at the far-right roll, “is from Flourish and Blotts. If you look at the other two, you’ll find similar proposals from the two biggest stores in the States as well. They all discuss possible partnerships that will make you a lot of money if you decide to accept, although you will have to look over the precise terms yourself. Something about making storybooks for children sing with that Charm of yours, but that’s more your area. I am sure you’ll figure it out. I also took the liberty of forwarding the original proposals to your solicitor, so these–” she pointed at the three scrolls– “are the altered versions. Read them through and tell me your thoughts on them in a couple of days, ok?” 

Fred picked up two of the parchment rolls and crammed them into his bag ( _gently_ , ok? His bag might be filled to the brim, but Fred did know how to not ruin his notes. There were important calculations and prank plans in there!), thanking Parkinson for her hard work. George should be proud of him. Fred was being _extremely civil_ to the Evil Doll right now. He deserved a bloody medal for putting up with the girl this early in the morning. For putting up with her any time of the day, really. 

George ignored Fred’s exemplary behaviour in favour of skimming through the first document. “And the other proposal?” George enquired. “You made it sound like there was something more you wanted to discuss.” 

“It is not a proposal from any businesses, but an idea I had that might prove to be fruitful. What if you could adjust the Charm to sing in more languages than English?” 

Fred frowned a bit, thinking over the possible changes to the spell-matrix it would require. “Probably. This spell relies mostly on intent and the work the authors themselves put in, so technically it shouldn’t be too hard to accomplish. At least for the books utilising similar alphabets. It’d be harder to adjust the spell for books written in languages using other characters, or, I don’t know, logograms. But it should be doable,” he trailed off as ideas on how to overcome the puzzle begun to take form in his head. Fred tuned out those around him, sketching out a rough draft of the arithmetic formulas for possible wand movements. Fred lost his train of thought when George poked him in the face. “ _What_?” 

“It should be doable…” George prompted. 

“Oh, right. Making the spell work on other languages is something within our abilities. It’d probably go smoother if we got some help finetuning the spell from a native speaker.” 

George sent Parkinson a questioning look. “Well, you’ve got an answer. What’s this brilliant plan of yours?” 

“The books you are currently selling are starting to make a real profit. I thought we might as well branch out.” 

“I thought we were already selling books to people living outside of Britain?” 

“Well, obviously. But they are still in _English_ and making it in people’s native tongues would raise their popularity, especially when it comes to the children’s books.” 

“We’ll see about making that happen, then.” 

“You do that.” 

The Harpy removed yet another piece of parchment from her bag, unrolling it on top of the table. Fred peered down at the various diagrams that were revealed while Parkinson grabbed a quill and ink. 

“Now, moving on to some updates. Revenues are good. The improved howlers – or Trash Talkers, as they are now referred to – and the Silent Sneakers are turning quite the profit. Together with the Belt Out Books, of course.” 

It was good that they could make use of their previous pranks. Especially as it had the added benefit of bringing up pleasant memories when they were working on them. And what fond memories, those were. Having a Trash Talker stalk Lockhart for days (well, he had not enjoyed it _at the time of the event_ , feeling slightly guilty, but after having learnt the truth behind the production of Lockhart’s books Fred felt much better about the situation) and one of his and George’s first successful spell creations. Shoes that made no sound, even on creaking floorboards, useful for sneaking in and out of one’s room unnoticed. 

Parkinson handed over the new document as well, after having circled a couple of sections, pointing at the circled areas. “Look through these as well. And make sure to contact me when you have got all the different sizes for the Wonderland Sweets worked out, will you? You wanted to make those into some kind of collection, right?” 

George nodded. “Yes. We’ve been thinking everything from two to seventeen feet but were still working on the specifics. We’re mostly done, though. Once we finetune the flavour, we should be done.” 

The Slytherin hummed in answer. “Well, that’s that. I’ll be going then. I expect to see you, George, for our weekly report meeting.” Message delivered; she began to scoot off the bench. Fred sighed in relief, but he took out the victory too soon. Fred watched on in horror as the Evil Doll reached for the last chocolate muffin on the Gryffindor table. Acting quickly, Fred managed to protect the precious pastry by swatting the offending hand away. 

Getting kicked in the shin for his trouble. 

Fred glared up at Parkinson. “ _Ouch_.” 

Instead of answering the Harpy simply hit him again, before she huffed and turned to George, continuing as if nothing had happened. “Normal abandoned classroom on the fifth floor?” Parkinson asked. 

“Works for me. See you.” 

The Slytherin got to her feet and wandered down the table. 

With that trying conversation over, Fred picked up the chocolate muffin, deciding to celebrate his successful defence of the pastry by eating said pastry. Fred was inches from biting down when the muffin was snagged right out of his hand. Fred swivelled around while exclaiming loudly in offence, only to catch sight of Parkinson’s already retreating back as she sauntered off with _Fred’s_ muffin in her hand. He looked down incredulously at his empty hand. 

George, the traitor, simply huffed out a laugh. Which resulted in Fred’s twin _accidentally_ getting elbowed off the bench. 

George laughed harder before calming himself. Then the menace began to eat his own muffin (cinnamon and apple, so Fred couldn’t even steal it from him), still lying down on the floor and smiling placidly in the face of Fred’s vexed expression. 

Turning his back to the traitor, Fred peered over at the Ravenclaw table. It was simple to locate another chocolate flavoured muffin there. With a quick flick of his wrist, Fred summoned it and dug in, chewing furiously. 

oooOOooo 

It was finally time for _The_ class. The class Tom had been waiting for. 

It was time for Divination. 

Tom arrived at the indicated location in the North Tower to find a trapdoor, where some other fifth years were standing around, at 9 o’clock. Not even a second later the trapdoor snapped open and a ladder was lowered down. 

That was new. 

Last time Tom attended Divination class there had been no rope ladder. Well, there had not been a trapdoor either, the class had been held in an _actual_ classroom, but that was not the point. Every professor in the entire history of Hogwarts had been at least somewhat eccentric, therefore Tom was not overly surprised that one of them wanted to hold their lessons up here. No, the point was that _someone_ expected _him_ to use a _ladder._

After a bit of trial and error (because Tom was not afraid of admitting that climbing up a swaying rope ladder was bloody _difficult_ when you lacked basic core strength and motivation to exert yourself) Tom managed to scale to the top. 

He felt somewhat out of breath when he entered the classroom (…or that might have been the smell of incense making him dizzy). 

Tom took a moment to examine the décor. There were plush armchairs scattered around the room and shelves full of divination tools leaning against the walls. And then there was the fire, burning steadily in the corner warming the entire room, which Tom felt particularly partial for. With no hesitation, Tom made his way over to the seating nearest the fire. This was now _his_ seat. Tom was later joined by a Hufflepuff who Tom made sure to charm. 

Tom did have a reputation to rebuild. 

Professor Trelawney appeared and told them what they would be doing during the year; up to mid-November they would focus on dream interpretation and after that, it would be repetition for OWLs as well as some higher-level training for things thought during third and fourth year. 

She said more, but those first moments Tom was occupied by studding the adult witch in front of him. All the chains and beads and those _glasses_. It was a lot to take in. Of course, this was _Divination_ , so as soon as their professor started her lecture, he made sure to pay attention. 

Tom found that he did not dislike the professor. While she was absentminded in her teaching style, she knew what she was talking about. When you looked beyond the annoyingly flowery language and the snide comments disguised as ‘prophesies’, that is. Tom could appreciate her scaring and making fun of the people only taking the class for the easy grade. As if there was anything _easy_ about the magnificent Art of Divination. 

Tom thought the acting was a nice touch, if a tad over the top. Although… as the hour wore on Tom began to suspect that some of the erratic behaviour was not only for show. 

Either way, Tom sat and diligently took notes in his notebook (easier to keep track of them when they were all in the same place. Thank you, Frances, for suggesting that). 

When the hour was up, Tom packed away his things. However, before he managed to exit the room, he was stopped by Professor Trelawney who appeared next to him. 

“Before you leave, Mr Gaunt-Prewett, I would like to invite you to the extracurricular Divination study group. For those who show promise, those gifted with the Sight or those with enough latent abilities to understand the mysteries around us even without the Inner Eye. Meetings every other Wednesday at five.” 

After giving her an affirmative answer Tom slung his bag over his shoulder and was almost by the trap door when the professor spoke again. “And do be careful of sweeping cloth in the future, dear boy!” 

“…Of course, Professor Trelawney.” 

With that puzzling advise still in his mind Tom made his way over to the Transfiguration classroom, where he met up with Pucey (and _Bletchley_ , who was an inescapable by-product of being around Pucey. Regrettably) 

When Bletchley noticed his expression, he snorted loudly. “Well, don’t you look baffled. Trelawney a bit much for you?” 

Tom _was_ perplexed (not that he would be informing the other wizard of that). 

Until the afternoon came around, that was. 

While walking by the shore to find some stones for runes practice something crashed right into him, sending him flying face-first into the Black Lake. Coming up for air, sputtering in both indignation and in an attempt to rid himself of the water he had inhaled, Tom was met by the sight of a sheepish George sitting on his flying carpet above him. 

It was not flying for long after that, both carpet and irritating Weasley ending up soaked right along with Tom in the lake. 

oooOOooo 

At the end of his ninth day of lessons as a fifth year, George felt like he was drowning in homework. It was not like he had been _unaware_ of the fact that fifth years had substantially more schoolwork to complete compared to fourth years, but he had not grasped that _more_ meant _hours_ of homework each day to stay on top of it all. As George already considered the workload of last year far too much to handle, the added amount was near torturous. 

George sank back further in his usual armchair in the common room, groaning miserably and pushing the assignment he had been working on away from himself. 

Fred sank down next to him, placing his head in his hands and emitting a low whine. “This is _torture_.” 

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” 

oooOOooo 

Fred gave up. He was done. _No more homework_. 

It was only September the 14th and they had not even been back for two weeks, yet Fred still felt drained. Thus, Fred felt that he was more than deserving of a break. Waving goodbye to George, who was still trying to complete the Potions essay Professor Snape had assigned them earlier today, Fred trekked up the stairs in search of the Marauder’s Map. Fred felt like doing something _actually_ productive with his time. 

Today, this included meeting Cedric. Locating his friend with the help of the Map was easy after years of practice, and Fred was off in no time. 

Cedric took his new duty as a prefect with utmost seriousness, meaning Fred’s current endeavour did have a high risk of failure. but Fred was nothing if not optimistic. 

Finally, he came to a stop outside of an unused classroom housing Cedric and the Hufflepuff Beater, Peter Bradley. Their dots were darting around the room like mad Fred noted while folding the Map. 

Fred threw the door open but immediately had to duck to avoid a spell that had been flung his way. Cursing quietly as the fizzling blue light passed right over his head Fred took in the scene in front of himself, still crouching on the floor. The Hufflepuffs were in a practise duel, from the looks of it. Deciding he would rather not be blown up by any stray jinxes or hexes he moved back out of the room quickly, leaving a small crack to allow him to peer in. 

It was impressive to watch the two Badgers duel and Fred was once again reminded of why people called Cedric the best dueller Hogwarts had seen this decade. Bradley was competent as well, casting spell after spell but he did seem to have some problems with countering Cedric’s more explosive retaliations. But Cedric was in an entirely different league. The Seeker was transfiguring the chairs and desks around him into animal shapes (well, maybe more like _monster_ shapes. A little too much teeth, claws and tentacles in Fred’s opinion) that he sent after the other boy, while he was simultaneously sending hexes or deflecting his opponent’s spell. Truly impressive. 

Fred decided to take note. Why had _he_ never thought of using furniture as a weapon before? The transfiguration was right up his alley! 

After a couple of exciting minutes of observing the duel, Cedric finally defeated Bradley allowing Fred to enter. 

Fred made his request (and then _begged_ Cedric to at least consider it). He was pretty sure he managed to convince Cedric to help him and George. 

Not even an hour later Fred met up with Cedric in an out of the way corridor. When he saw what his friend was carrying, he could not prevent a huge grin from appearing on his face. 

“You, Ced, are an absolute marvel.” 

“If you continue to give me that smug look I might come to my senses,” Cedric said, only half-jokingly. “I feel like an enabler, handing this over to you.” 

“You make it sound like that’d be a bad thing. This will be fantastic. Just think of all the great things George and I can accomplish with this!” 

Cedric sighed ruefully. “ _That_ is what I’m afraid of.” Still, the Hufflepuff walked closer and held out a rolled-up parchment. However, before Fred could snatch it up Cedric grabbed his arm lightly. “If you get caught with this, you did not get it from me, understood?” 

Fred flopped the hand not attached to the arm Cedric was currently holding dismissively. “No worries, no worries. You know me.” 

“Sadly,” Cedric remarked, but he gave Fred a fond look. He released Fred’s arm and handed the parchment over before he walked off. As the Hufflepuff was turning the corner he called back, “Remember; you own me three months of prank immunity for this!” 

As soon as Cedric was out of sight Fred unrolled the parchment and peered down at it. He smirked in anticipatory pleasure. Fred had just been handed the prefects’ patrolling schedule for the next months, detailing their specific routes and when they would appear there. 

When meeting up with George back in their dormitory he held up the schedule. “Got it. Now, did you manage to fulfil your objective?” In lieu of an answer, George held up another piece of parchment, not getting up from where he was perched on the edge of his bed. Fred leaned down to inspect it and whistled in appreciation at the content. “The schedule for the Hogwarts Professors up until Christmas break. Great job, Georgie Bear.” 

George’s eyes thinned, and he sent Fred a baleful glare. “What was that, Fred? I think I must have misheard you.” 

Fred gave him an innocent smile, prompting George to glare harder. 

“I thought we agreed to never bring up that nickname again when we were nine,” George said, deceptively calm. 

“Hmm, I was thinking of bringing it back. Hearing everybody in Slytherin refer to Tom as Yippee made me nostalgic.” 

“Fred.” 

Fred held up his hands, throwing himself out of the way of a nasty Knee-Reversal Hex. “Kidding! I’m kidding!” He sat down next to his brother on the bed, continuing to hold his hands up in defeat. “How about we set up a schedule for the next month’s pranks instead of mutilating me?” 

George rolled his eyes but turned towards Lee’s bed, where the other boy was calmly reading a magazine. “Lee! Planning time!” 

“Coming.” 

oooOOooo 

George slumped down onto the bench at the Slytherin table, next to Adrian, handing him his paper back. Fred settled down across from him. 

George felt morose, not even three days spent reading the latest edition of _Discoveries of Magic; Monthly_ had managed to cheer him, or Fred for that matter, up. 

George reached for a plate and loaded it up with dinner. Walking over to the Gryffindor table seemed too much of a bother. Clearly sharing the same sentiment, George’s twin also grabbed a plate, only to stop mid-way to let his head fall onto the table with a groan. 

“I detest this. Truly, I have come to hate fifth year,” Fred complained, voice muffled by the table. 

Adrian patted his shoulder. “Stay strong.” 

“The homework, Pucey, the _homework_! It’s a ludicrous amount, surely far bigger than it needs to be. I mean, at this point all they accomplish is making us stressed and anxious. Could they be more counterproductive? As if some of the classes weren’t hard enough, our professors had to give us _more_ work. Merlin forbid any students actually getting to enjoy school! We don’t even get free time anymore,” Fred continued bitterly. 

Suddenly Elestren Parkinson appeared at the table. “Chin up, little Lion! You should enjoy the peace while it lasts. It is only the third week of classes, after all. This is nothing. It’ll get worse as you get closer to the OWLs,” she sang out, pushing four third year Slytherins sitting next to them out of her way. George snorted when she did not even acknowledge the children’s grumbled complaints while they moved further down the table. He was momentarily confused when she left the spot empty, instead settling down next to Emily Rookwood. His question was answered by the low sound of Bletchley’s snickering questions and Tom’s sneered replies as they entered the Great Hall. 

Fred glared at Elestren, not lifting his head off the table. “Shut up, Harpy.” 

“Hmm… No, I don’t think I will.” 

Tom looked at them quizzically when he settled down in the spot vacated by the third years. “Is this about the workload? Honestly, why are you even bothering? You hate most of it and it is not like the results we receive on our homework this year matters. The professors are not the ones to grade us this year, you realise. It all hinges on how you perform during OWLs.” 

Emily nodded absentmindedly. “I never thought of it like that, but you are right. At least for fifth and seventh year.” 

“Exactly,” Tom said. “The professors give out homework so that we can process the material. It is a way to get people without discipline to study.” 

“As nice as this idea sounds, it won’t work in practice. We’ll either get detention or _more_ homework if we ignore the assignments,” George piped up. “Believe me, we already tried.” 

Tom’s expression turned pensive, as he was no doubt trying to find a way to circumvent the rules _without_ breaking them. “Technically, the professors will be unable to give you detention as long as you turn _something_ in.” 

“They assign detentions for plagiarism and shoddy work,” Fred argued. 

“I believe you misunderstood. Bear with me for a moment. We have fifteen inches on the uses of Moonstone for Potions, correct? How about you complete it, but not the way Professor Snape intended you to. Make something you might enjoy out of it.” 

“Oh?” George urged, beginning to feel interested. 

“How about you, I don’t know, write about the kind of pranks you can accomplish with the ingredient. I assume the two of you will be able to think of multiple ways to wreak havoc if you put your minds to it.” 

Adrian gave Tom an unimpressed look, but George could spot mirth underneath it. “Are you seriously encouraging them to give Professor Snape an essay on prank potions? That won’t end well for _anybody_.” 

Bletchley, on the other hand, did not make any attempt what so ever to hide his amusement. “And here I thought you _liked_ Snape, Yippee.” 

Tom scoffed. “I think the alterations on the standard approach to brew potions he writes on the board are brilliant. That does not mean I think the man is a suitable teacher. Professor Snape hates all of us, and I believe he would rather teach a business of Jarveys how to brew then even try to impart his knowledge on us. Besides, we don’t want the twins to get depressed. Assignments that get on our professors’ nerves are far more preferable. And will have entertaining results, no doubt.” 

That was a good idea and George was definitely going to do that. Something that would make homework less awful to deal with while also allowing him to prank the faculty. It was too great an idea to be ignored. 

George met Fred’s eyes across the table. Seeing the mischief bubbling to the surface George grinned. This would, indeed, be _very entertaining_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes writing fanfics means spending your time trying to find out what on Earth you are supposed to call a bunch of jarveys. 
> 
> Well, I couldn’t actually find an answer to the question, but as a group of ferrets is called a business (a modernized version of “busyness”) I just went and assumed the same thing stands for jarveys. 
> 
> Google also saw fit to mention that a group of unicorns is supposed to be referred to as a “blessing” and a group of giraffes is called a “tower” in their People Also Ask box. 
> 
> Obviously, I had to impart this _extraordinarily_ imperative knowledge after I found out. 
> 
> So… now you know that I guess. 


	11. Chapter 11

“I hate to break it you, Thomas, but she’s a fraud.” 

Tom gave Elestren Parkinson a deceptively placid smile. “ _What_ did you just say?” 

She rolled her eyes. “She is a _fraud_ , a phoney, a fake – whatever you want to call it. If Trelawney shows so much as a speck of competency in ‘unfogging the future’ I’ll eat a bucket of flobberworms.” 

“That is–” Tom had to cut himself off. There was simply _so much_ wrong with that statement he found it hard to know where to even begin rectifying the erroneous opinion. Just, _no_ . 

“ _True_ , Thomas. The word you are looking for is _true_ ,” Parkinson interjected. “I took the class third year, and Morgana if it was an utter waste of time. Those are hours I will never get back. Divination at Hogwarts is a joke.” 

Tom closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Someone being an ignorant fool was something Tom knew how to handle in a calm and non-violent manner. _He did_. If people felt the need to dismiss – or went as far as to derogate – a subject simply because they lacked skill in it… well, then that was on _them_. That there were dozens of students praising the subject (that was officially recognized as a legitimate branch of the Magical Arts, mind you) and its professor seemed to be something these people dismissed as it did not fit into their narrow world view. 

But it was _fine_. It was not Tom’s problem, now was it? Tom, like the magnanimous being that he was, was above reacting to such simple matters as narrowmindedness. 

It was a shame though. That Parkinson held such _muggle_ sentiments. Truly. And to think he had begun to appreciate the witch’s company. Yes, it was a shame. 

Tom turned on his heel and left. 

He had better things to occupy his time with. Like the essay for _Divination_ (an _extraordinarily_ valuable subject to study) due in two days, on October 4th as it was. 

oooOOooo 

Tom arrived at the library two hours before curfew, at the request of Fred and George. 

It took Tom a couple of minutes to find the pair, even after he resorted to a point me spell. But in his defence, they were seated in the corner furthest away from Madam Pince. 

“ _There_ you are,” Tom proclaimed when he came to a stop next to Fred who was seated at a library table. Its surface was brimming with an assortment of books, parchments with complicated runes sequences drawn out on them and arithmetic calculations penned down across long scrolls. Tom was careful not to disturb anything when he settled down on a chair, taking care as to where he placed his things. “You had something you wanted to discuss?” 

Fred looked up, a big smudge of ink across his chin. “Tom. Perfect.” He started shuffling through the content strewn haphazardly over the table until he came across the one parchment he was supposedly looking for. “You can speak lots of languages…” Fred trailed off, doing a double-take once he had fully focused on Tom’s expression. Whereupon he burst into laughter. “Oh dear, who managed to get on your bad side _this time_?” 

“I am certain I have no idea what you mean,” Tom said indignantly. 

George made a doubtful sound from where he was sitting on the floor. “Then why do you look like your about to bite someone’s head off?” 

Tom huffed but did tell the twins about the outrageousness of _some people_ , if only because ranting was a great way to get something off one’s chest and relieve one’s irritation. 

Fred put on an exaggeratedly scandalized expression. “That sounds like a harrowing experience, Tom. Someone _disagreeing_ with you, perish the thought!” 

“Well, she–” 

“A _she_ , was it?” 

“Yes, Fred. _What of it_?” 

George rolled his eyes from his perch on the floor where he had been drawing a rune circle on a giant parchment. “Ignore him.” He gave Tom a considering once over. “But I have to ask; did you have a falling out?” 

“Calling it a ‘falling out’ seems somewhat excessive. Me and Ele- _Parkinson_ , are just… not on speaking terms at the moment.” 

Fred slumped melodramatically back into his chair (which was, Tom was loath to admit, rather impressive. Not just anyone could manage such a feat while sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chairs found in the library). “All my hopes, shattered! Here I thought you had finally made an actual friend!” 

Tom wrinkled his nose. _Friends_. 

Fred continued. “Don’t get me wrong, Tom. The Harpy would make an _awful_ friend, but–” 

Tom shot a wandless Silencing Charm straight at the menace’s face. Tom did not have the patience to deal with this today. He turned to George. “I believe it is time for a blatant subject change. Now, George. Did you ask me to come by for a reason or were you simply planning on wasting my evening with your usual prattle?” 

“Yes, yes, Tom. Message received,” George chuckled out, reversing the spell on his twin. “We did have a reason other than wasting your incredibly precious time.” 

“What he said,” Fred agreed. “It is about your language skills. Just how did you learn to speak so many of them? Was it some kind of spell? Or potion? Because we could really use something like that right about now.” 

Tom gave Fred a supremely unimpressed glare. “Fred,” he began. “I spent _decades_ locked up in a diary with absolutely _nothing_ to do.” 

“Yes? We were the ones who set you free, remember? Of course I’m aware.” 

“…” 

“I think he meant that he spent those years studying anything he could get his hands on, brother.” 

“So, there _isn’t_ any spell to learn new languages?” Fred asked dejectedly. 

Tom shook his head. “Not that I am aware of, no. I don’t suppose you could use translation charms?” 

George seemed to think that over for a second before shaking his head. “I don’t think that would work. We’ll have to go with plan B, then. Tom, could you spare some time – or, well, quite a lot of time – to help us develop the Belt Out Books further. We’re going international.” 

Tom _did not_ have time to spare, never mind _a lot_ of it. 

So, what to do. On the one hand, Tom had to focus on completing the coursework. Ensuring that he received O’s in all his subjects was no simple task, considering that the entire curriculum had been modified since the Original’s time. There were newly developed spells, potions and everything in between. And that was without taking everything the muggles had invented over the years into account (indeed, Muggle Studies had now become the most difficult subject of Tom’s, which was beyond humiliating). But on the other hand, Tom _did_ enjoy the tinker that went into spell creation. 

“…I suppose I could lend you a hand.” 

oooOOooo 

The Room of Hidden Things was a marvel, Fred thought, as he riffled through yet another stack of random objects. Reaching a little further between a giant statue of a horse and a desk covered in crudely drawn genitalia Fred managed to grab the toom that had caught his eye. Grasping it, he drew it out from where it had been hidden. He was fairly sure it contained information about the creatures of the sea. 

Hopefully, Lee would enjoy reading it. The boy’s sixteenth birthday _was_ coming up (and Fred and George were in _desperate_ need of something to bribe their friend with. After all, once Lee received the surprise they had planned for his Big Day they would need something to get back into his good graces. Fred doubted Lee would be accepting any boxes containing ‘birthday presents’ for a couple of years after this…) 

After skimming the contents page Fred was pleased to see that it was indeed about the more terrifying creatures inhabiting the oceans. Without further ado, he placed it in the cart standing next to him. The cart was already brimming with things he and George had found, the two of them having grabbed anything that even remotely resembled a useful object. So far, the most interesting thing had been a book detailing the procedure of properly mixing potions with drinks or food without the potions losing their potency – all the while preserving the food’s original flavour (well, it was about adding _poisons_ , but _surely_ the principle would translate to adding prank potions to food as well). 

Initially, when they had just returned to Hogwarts, Fred and George had planned on visiting the Room at least once a week. But that had not panned out. It took an inordinate amount of time to locate _anything_ of use in here. One had to spend _hours_ rifling through the stacks. In the end, he and George had to settle for one full day each month in the Room of Requirement. 

And what better way to kick off that tradition than to begin this new month by spending their day in the slightly musty and dust-filled Room? 

When, half an hour after finding the book for Lee, Fred stumbled over yet some more clutter he felt it might be time to retire for the night. When you are sleepy enough to accidentally fall over your own feet, you really ought not to traverse around a room filled with stumbling hazards (and quite a number of cursed objects. Maybe Fred should be more worried about those). 

“George!” 

Fred stood silent, waiting for any sound of acknowledgement from his twin. But he could hear nothing but his own breaths. Mordred, just how far had George managed to wander off this time? 

With nothing better to do, Fred decided to return to their rendezvous-point. He did have an assignment he could work on until George was done. 

Fred let out a yelp when he stepped on something and careened straight into a shelf. 

…Perhaps it would be smarter to take a nap instead of working. Yes, Fred rather liked that plan. 

Fortunately, he no longer felt overly stressed about his schoolwork and felt justified in putting it off for a day or two. Having implemented Tom’s suggestion had worked flawlessly. 

Neither Fred nor George had yet to receive detention over the somewhat questionable essays they had been turning in, as technically, they had done their assignments. And Snape’s face when he had to return their essay on the uses of Moonstone in various hair washing solutions with a red O on top of it had been _priceless_. Seeing as the first try using Tom’s strategy had turned out a glorious result, Fred and George had decided to explore just _how_ farfetched they could take the professors’ instructions before they got in trouble. 

Pranking professors by writing about the most bizarre subjects they could think of was very enjoyable. 

They had even managed to get a reaction out of _Binns_! Fred had never seen the ghost flabbergasted before. But he supposed 48 inches on how the development of muggle lipstick contributed to the instigation of the 1889 Goblin Rebellion could do that to anyone. Good times. 

Although Fred liked professor Lupin’s reaction the best by far. Not only did the wizard seem to find their newest scheme beyond amusing, but he had also given them _constructive feedback_ and _helpful suggestions_ on how to improve their prank assignments! A professor giving tips on how to circumvent instruction further was unorthodox, true, but who were Fred and George to look a gift horse in the mouth? 

Having reached the rendezvous-point Fred settled down with a tired sigh, leaning back against a wall and closing his eyes. He was finding the idea of a short nap more and more appealing. 

Fred was nodding off when something nudged him in the side. Cracking an eye opened Fred saw his twin withdrawing his foot from where it had been used to wake Fred. Tilting his head up Fred met George’s gaze, his brother giving him an apologetic smile, holding a sack filled with… used candy wrappers? That was… you know what, no. Fred did not have the brainpower to process that right now. He would ask George about it _tomorrow_. 

“Sorry to wake you, but I thought you’d rather sleep in the dormitory. No matter what Tom says about this place being perfectly serviceable as a temporary bedroom I think we’d both prefer our own beds. Want to get out of here?” 

“Please. You’ve got the Map, right? Let’s check if the coast’s clear?” 

“Yes, it’s in the bag. Could you?” George motioned with his head towards the bag. “My hands are kind of full.” 

Fred rummaged around the pockets of George’s bag until he found the Marauder’s Map. He swiftly touched the tip of his Walnut wand against the parchment. “ _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_.” He studied the Map before doing a double-take, having to blink multiple times to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving him in his tiredness. “Well, that is slightly concerning.” 

“What?” 

“Ginny and Luna are visiting the Forbidden Forest.” 

George gave a longsuffering sigh. “ _Again_? Are they still on about that detective thing? Solving the mysteries of Hogwarts?” 

“That – or they are scouting for creatures. I’d say it’s a fifty-fifty chance.” 

“Oh, thank Merlin, they are turning back.” 

“Well, curfew was three hours ago,” Fred said. “They were bound to return sometime, if only to sleep.” 

George began to look concerned while tracking the dots moving on the Map. “…That’s the Whomping Willow.” 

“ _Why_ are they walking up to the Whomping Willow?!” 

Fred watched the Map with bated breath as his little sister and her best friend started circling the ill-tempered tree. He could do nothing but observe while their dots moved closer and closer. 

And then entered the secret passage under the tree. 

Both he and George stood in dumbfounded silence. That was not possible! Neither twin had even managed to get close to the tree, much less figure out how to _enter_ the passage they only knew about through the Marauder’s Map. 

Finally getting over his speechlessness, Fred gave his brother an incredulous look. “Did you tell them about the passageway?” 

“No! Did _you_?” 

“Not that I am aware of.” 

“Then _how_ did they find it?!” George demanded of the air, not expecting an answer. 

“I’d like to know how they managed to circumvent the murder tree.” Fred continued to watch as the second-years travelled further from the castle. “Maybe they are on to something with their detective obsession after all.” 

George seemed to shake himself out of his stupor, refocusing on their original objective. “Well, the coast is clear. No one’s in this part of the castle. Let’s head back.” 

“Gladly,” he agreed, thinking longingly of his bed. 

With some impressive manoeuvring, George managed to get the sack with the candy wrapper of unknown origin (and purpose) into the cart. Looking pleased, he declared, “Let us be off, then.” 

And once Ginny and Luna got back to the castle the four of them would have a little chat. Once Fred had gotten a sufficient amount of sleep, that was. 

oooOOooo 

George could not help but laugh when he took in his twin’s expression. Before them was Tom and Elestren, walking into the Great Hall arm in arm with identical smirks upon their faces. 

“Seems like they made up,” George commented lightly before going back to his breakfast. 

“But–” Fred sputtered, seemingly at a loss for words, not taking his eyes of the duo– “it is – it’s the Harpy, George!” 

“Tom made a friend. You should be happy for him.” 

“But it’s the _Harpy_ ,” Fred echoed. George heard him mumble about stalking menaces, deceptively violent dolls and potential-girlfriend-stealers and had to fight hard not to roll his eyes. 

“I feel you are having a severe overreaction to this event, brother mine. They are _talking_.” 

“But they were fighting!” 

“About _divination_ ,” George pointed out patiently. “We’re not talking about a Blood Feud, here.” 

Fed looked unconvinced. “Tom can be _very_ ardent about divination.” 

“Point,” George admitted. Tom did feel strongly about the subject and could get somewhat… particular about it. “Well, if this bothers you so much, go talk to them.” 

Which was how George found himself getting dragged along to the Slytherin table, valiantly holding back his multiple eye rolls when Fred began to ask questions (Fred was supposed to be the _reasonable_ _twin_ , honestly). 

“We simply overcame out differences,” Tom answered flippantly after having listened to Fred’s many questions. 

Emily Rookwood did not share George’s impressive powers of restraint, rolling her eyes freely. “They came to an ‘accord’,” she whispered to George. “They agreed to never talk about anything even related to divination within the others hearing range _ever_ again. Merlin, but they dramatic.” 

George hummed in agreement. 

oooOOooo 

Tom met up with Harry for another Divination study group meeting. 

The younger boy gave the divination classroom a dubious onceover. “I still can’t believe Trelawney keeps inviting me to these. _Me_? I can understand asking Parvati and Lavender to come, they are actually good at this. But me? I mean, she didn’t even ask Hermione to come, so why in the world would I be any better?” 

Tom snorted, unintentionally interrupting Harry’s ramble. “Your best friend has the Foresight of a muggle teacup, _of course_ she’s not invited. While _you_ are, at the very least, _passable_ at the subject. If only barely.” 

Harry did not appear convinced. “I am not sure that counts for much. I mean, Trelawney doesn’t like me, Tom. She keeps on predicting my death. _Every lesson_." 

“Technically, she is saying that the _Grim_ is coming for you." 

“The Grim is an omen of death,” Harry argued, removing his writing utensils from his bag while they waited for the professor to turn up. 

“It is one of its less abstract interpretations, true. But only one of many. I would not worry about it if I were you. _I_ certainly did not See anything about you dying in the near future when I looked at your tea leaves.” 

Harry looked beyond unimpressed. “You told me I had the Grim yesterday, Tom.” 

“Well, it did not have much of an ‘imminent death’ feeling to it. Which I told you, if you recall.” 

“Yes, and I found that ever so reassuring,” Harry deadpanned. “And thank you, by the way. It pleases me that you deem me _passable_ . Very high praise.” 

“It is. For someone that barely studies – which is ridiculous of you, by the way. We are going to a magic school studying _magic_ , it is not like it’s a _burden_ – you are doing surprisingly well. You must have at least a little affinity for Divination.” 

“Either way I maintain that she’s barmy. Half of the things she says doesn’t even come true.” 

Tom exhaled, not letting his irritation show on his face. Just _why_ did everyone feel the need to force their uninformed opinions down Tom’s throat recently? 

“Most of what she says comes true in some form,” Tom informed Harry. “Although, mostly I think she likes to torment people who annoy her. Especially Professor McGonagall.” 

“That’s a bit of a stretch. Granted, I suppose her cryptic warning about stopping self-important blondes from insulting equally self-important chickens from interacting came true. Malfoy was forced to thank me for dragging him out of Buckbeak’s reach.” At Tom’s questioning look he elaborated. “The Hippogriff. Buckbeak the Hippogriff.” 

“Ah, yes. I remember hearing of that incident… and who is Malfoy again?” 

“The loud one always bragging about himself. Or making repetitive threats about snitching to his dad.” 

Tom furrowed his brows in concentration, absentmindedly patting Draco who had decided to come along (Naja still in the dorm, preferring the environment of his terrarium over the cold interior of the castle. Tom could not fault him). He was attempting to put a face to the name. To be fair, it had not even been two months since Tom arrived at Hogwarts. He could not be expected to learn the names of hundreds of students attending the school in that amount of time (even if he had known their grandparents, in a sense. But frankly that was more confusing than it was helpful most of the time). Furthermore, Tom could not be bothered to put in the effort needed to learn the names of most of the brats, either. It was fairly low on his priorities list, at the moment. 

Although Harry’s description did ring a bell… “ _My father will hear about this_?” 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Harry said with mirth shining in his eyes. 

Yes, Tom did indeed know of that one. Always strutting about as if he owned the world, bragging about the inanest subjects. 

They had to cut the conversation there, as Professor Trelawney had arrived. And, to no one’s surprise, proceeded to inform them that the Grim was coming for Harry. 

oooOOooo 

George was dragging a sack after himself, creeping through the corridor at midnight. He lamented that he could not shrink the sack without damaging its content as this meant that he had been unable to use his miniature broom, as had become custom for him and Fred. Sneaking around unnoticed had become so much easier after figuring out how to attain the great hight of eight inches and flying near the ceiling. Oh well, needs must. 

With barely two days left before Halloween, there was a lot to get done. George and Fred had spent a lot of time brewing potions these last two weeks. And cleaning the used candy wrappers. 

Making sure there were enough candies to feed the entire school was no simple task. 

George made his way down until he reached the dungeons, whereupon he veered off towards the kitchens. He forewent the painting hiding the entrance to the kitchens, instead he headed off in the direction of the pantry. When he arrived at his destination, he was pleased to see that Fred had begun to undo the wards guarding the entrance from the students (who knew where the pantry was located, which was not all that many, come to think of it. Maybe the wards were more to guard against hungry professors). 

George carefully entered his brother’s field of vision as to not startle him while working on volatile magics. “Need some help?” 

“By all means.” 

George did not bother to answer and started to help Fred widen the hole in the protective magic. Not even a quarter of an hour later (of which three minutes were spent hiding from the flying terror known as Mrs Norris) they were able to enter the pantry. It was overflowing with foodstuff, enough to feed the castle’s inhabitants for two weeks stuffed away under highly impressive preservation charms. 

It took but a moment to find the shelf housing the sweets and pastry ingredients intended for the Halloween Feast. Methodically Fred began to add their creations to the mix while George injected the potions he had brewed into ready-made pastries and candies alike. 

“This will be an excellent promotion for when we launch the Mischievous Sweets line.” 

“Um-hum,” George hummed in agreement, not taking his focus off the syringe he was holding. Adding the potions ‘the muggle way’ meant that people would have a harder time noticing any _alterations_. 

“We’ll give it its own section in the Owl Ordering catalogue, right?” 

George finished what he was doing, turning to his twin and giving him his full attention. “Yes. At least, that’s my and Elestren’s plan.” 

“Since when are you calling the Harpy by name?” Fred said with affront. 

“Since she managed to help us start an actual company with a licence and permits, Fred. We are making enough money that opening up a shop in Diagon straight out of school has become an actual possibility. _Of course_ I am calling her by name.” 

“I suppose…” 

George huffed but did not comment further. “I’m done with this section. Ready to hit the next shelf?” 

“Let’s go.” 

oooOOooo 

Tom thought the twins were acting _extremely_ suspicious. Far more than usual. A sure sign that they were up to something. 

Fred and George were just _sitting there_. No jokes, no funny faces nor any other form of their usual mayhem. No, the twins were simply _conversing_ _calmly_ with their friends and partaking in the main course of the Halloween Feast. 

Of course, they might not be up to something right this moment, but rather trying to not get caught for something they had already done. Perhaps they pulled a prank when in Hogsmeade and were currently ‘acting normal’ so as to not raise suspicion. That alternative did not pose a risk to Tom. But his instincts told him the twins were up to something that _would_ be affecting Tom, so he subtly tested his food for any sign of magical tampering before taking a bite. 

But time went on and nothing happened. By the time pudding was served Tom had dismissed his worries. Which yes, Tom _did_ realise that that might not have been the best move. 

He was promptly reminded by his earlier apprehensions when Bletchley, who was sitting across from Tom, began to _glow_. Bletchley began to swear profusely as his size grew, reaching a hight of fifteen feet in seconds and having to throw himself off the bench. At that moment Tom felt a spell take root in his magic as well. Looking down at his hands Tom was appalled to find that he was _glittering_ , reflecting the light around him like some kind of human-shaped disco ball. 

Peering out over the rest of the Great Hall he could see more students changing colour, growing smaller or bigger, beards sprouting or gaining glowing appendages. The Hall descended into mayhem as people started giggling hysterically at their friends’ appearances. A fair few were also screaming, jumping out of the way as people around them had suddenly turned substantially bigger. 

Tom could not help but be impressed by the twins’ ingenuity. Whatever they had done to the candies and pastries covering the house tables, it not only affected the ones consuming it but the things they wore as well (or a third of the students in the Great Hall would currently be naked). How whatever spell or potion differentiated between clothing and furniture was, indeed, highly impressive. Although Tom was sure he would have appreciated it more had his exposed skin not been _twinkling_. 

“Adrian, come sit on my shoulder!” 

“What? I will not – _Miles_! Set me down!” 

Tom raised a derisive eyebrow at Bletchley’s unsuccessful attempts at cajoling Adrian into touching the enchanted ceiling from his newly elevated perch on his shoulders. 

A hush fell over the Hall when a big explosion sounded from the Gryffindor table, whereupon the twins each produced a broom and took to the air. George (Tom thought, at least. The two were harder to tell apart at a distance) cast a _Sonorus_ on both himself and his twin. 

The two proceeded to give a short but impassioned speech lauding their products, all the while avoiding Professor McGonagall’s impressive aim. Fred (probably) had reached their speech’s conclusion when the professor managed to hit him, George getting hit by the following spell. The two were lowered towards the ground by a decisive flick of the Transfiguration professor’s wand. Both Fred and George were laughing uproariously by the time their feet touched the ground, although they sobered (if only slightly) when met by Professor McGonagall’s unimpressed stare. 

While getting led out of the Hall by Professor McGonagall a, “It’ll wear off in ten minutes!” could be heard, just before the door closed. 

The majority of those ten following minutes Tom spent helping Adrian prevent Bletchley from accidentally crushing students under his feet. Well, _accidentally_. Tom was reasonably certain most of those instances of near flattening were deliberate on Bletchley’s part (him just _happening_ to step on people Tom knew for a fact his year mate detested seemed a bit farfetched). Adrian’s efforts were not helped by Tom not feeling particularly inclined to help him stop Bletchley. The reactions of those ending up on the bad side of Bletchley’s foot were entertaining, so Tom really should not be blamed for his lacklustre contribution. 

Tom gave a sigh of relief when his skin went back to its usual un-glittering state. Once the twins’ aforementioned ten minutes had passed, the noise in the Hall started to die down. Tom and his fellow Slytherins began to make their way back to their common shortly thereafter, the Feast officially over, seeing as everything intended for pudding had been contaminated. 

The castle was dark but for the torches lining the walls. Tom disliked those torches – if only because it was a magical fire that did not have the decency of providing the corridors with any actual warmth like fire _was supposed to_. 

Shivering slightly in the ever-cooling autumn air Tom reached for his silver lime wand to cast his fourth warming charm of the day. Tom was not paying attention to what was around him, intent on willing his spell to its most potent, which led to him almost missing Elestren Parkinson give a small start and coming to a stop. Without a word, she went off in another direction. She seemed oddly focused on something in front of her. Now, Tom’s interest was slightly piqued, but mostly he wanted to get back to the dormitory and the warm fire no doubt burning in the hearth. Thus, Tom had no intentions of following. The same thing could not be said for those around him. 

Case in point; Emily sent a perplex look after her friend before starting to follow. 

With the rest of the cohort being irredeemable busybodies, they too headed after the sixth years. Tom debated the merits of continuing on alone but discarded the idea quickly. If he returned to the common on his own, he would no doubt be bombarded with questions about his _cousins_ ’ newest inventions. But Tom was _tired_ and _cold_ after spending the previous night reading through a new book on runes he had gotten and simply lacked the patience to deal with feeble-minded sheep tonight. It would be unfortunate to attract attention _now_ , which throwing annoyances across rooms and into walls hard enough to concuss them tended to do. So, Tom would not be returning without his human buffers. 

Sighing, Tom followed the others. 

Tom, Adrian, Rookwood and Bletchley managed to catch up with Elestren without much issue. But the tiny sixth year took no notice of them. She simply stalked onwards, following whatever had caught her attention this time (which could be anything. The girl could decide to trail after the most bizarre things: pets, magical objects, _Weasleys_ …). 

Tom gazed in the same direction as Elestren, attempting to figure out whatever phenomenon was to blame for him having to dash through the dungeons. 

Which was how he came to realize that they were chasing after a portrait. 

When they got closer to the portrait Tom was able to discern words. Mostly expletives, but he did infer that a ‘vexing renegade’ was running around the castle. It was fortuitous for this _renegade_ that the woman in the portrait was no longer alive as she would have, in her own words, blown them to smithereens. The threats got progressively explicit (not that Tom was complaining. He had managed to learn where to direct a _bombarda_ when he wished to inflict maximal levels of agony. Useful knowledge, that). 

“Mrs Farley! Please wait up!” Parkinson called after the portrait, a little bit of worry creeping into her tone (but no hint of breathlessness, Tom noted surly. He for one would not have been able to say anything without huffing at this point. But then again, Tom was not built for running around like a lunatic, so). “What are you doing in the dungeons, of all places?! Mrs Farley?! _Margery?!_ ” 

The older lady slowed down, seemingly only noticing them now. 

“Do lower your voice, dear,” she admonished without heat. “There is no need to shout like that, Miss Parkinson. Now, I really must be on my way. There is an _intruder_ in the castle.” The woman appeared ready to leave but stilled and gave Elestren a considering look. “If you happen to see Peeves around, do ask him to swing by the Gryffindor tower. You know the drill, Miss Parkinson. Inconsolable or hysterical should do, I believe. Now, off you go,” she said, making a shooing movement with her hand. And then she was gone. 

Bletchley’s stared at the painting where the portrait had been seconds ago quizzically. “Was that the Fat Lady? It was, wasn’t it?” 

“Not now, Miles.” Parkinson stared out into space, expression pensive, before seemingly coming to a decision. “Speak of the Devil, and He shall appear,” she mumbled. Parkinson turned her wand towards her throat and cast the Amplifying Charm. “ _Peeves_!” 

Adrian turned her way sharply. “ _What_ are you doing? That poltergeist is a menace,” he hissed demandingly. 

Parkinson smiled innocently. “I am only doing what Mrs Farley asked me to. Ah, there he comes. Over here, Peeves! Yes, hello. Would you be terribly averse to doing Mrs Farley a favour tonight? Nothing big, just make sure the Gryffindors know about the intruder. How? She asked for it to be dramatic, I suppose the specifics are up to you.” 

The girl and poltergeist conversed for a minute, trading barbed insults, before seemingly coming to an accord. 

Before the poltergeist left, he asked who this mysterious intruder he was supposed to warn the lions about was. 

“Who the intruder is? I haven’t the slightest. You’ll have to ask Mrs Farley, won’t you? If that is all? We really must make our way to the dormitories. Goodbye, Peeves. A pleasure, like always.” 

With the bargain struck the poltergeist took off, laughing manically. Parkinson followed his example, walking back towards where they had come from. 

The rest of them trailed after the girl and Rookwood turned to Parkinson. “What was that all about?” 

“Weren’t you listening? I _just_ told Peeves that I don’t know who the intruder is. Hopefully, it is not another troll. Merlin, I hope it’s not another troll. Remember fourth year?” 

Tom had heard multiple accounts of the troll incident. Terrible business, that. And talking about terrible business. “Or a dementor. Wouldn’t want to run across one of those things in the castle,” Tom added. Although that sounded unlikely. Tom doubted the portrait would refer to a dementor as a renegade, of all things. 

All eyes turned to him. 

“It’s not a _dementor_ … is it?” Adrian asked worriedly. 

“Well, I would hope not. But I certainly do not feel like risking it.” 

It was a unanimous decision to speed up. Tom would prefer _not_ to run into the creature, however unlikely such an occurrence may seem. 

Their group near fell through the opening of the Slytherin common room minutes later in their haste to get away from the unknown intruder. Tom took two step forwards into the room, only to be pushed _back_ towards the exit. The seventh-year prefects had begun to usher students _out_ of the common room. 

And so, the entirety of Slytherin house made their way through the dungeons, a feeling of confusion permeating the air as no explanation about why they were being herded through the castle in the middle of the night had been forthcoming. Tom found himself wondering if this was about the intruder. 

They arrived in the Great Hall to find the other three houses of Hogwarts already there. Headmaster _Dumb_ -ledore informed them of the intruder (who had _yet_ to be named) and the search the castle was to undergo. Apparently, this meant that they would be spending the night in the Hall (using _sleeping bags_ , of all things. Did the old man not care that they were on the cold stone floor? Tom would freeze to death!) and told the prefects to keep an eye out for danger. 

As soon as the professors left to perform their duties the prefects gathered around the Head Boy and Girl. To set up a watch schedule and distribute shifts, no doubt. The group was joined by a dozen other older students wanting to help. Tom could see a lot of yellow robes among those volunteers… followed by a lot of red, as the Gryffindors could not be outdone by _Hufflepuffs_ – perish the thought! The brave lions must help stand vigil through the night! Ugh. Oh, look, now the ghosts were joining the fray. Tom made sure to keep his distance from that group, because while he might be a night owl, that did not mean he wanted to be put on the dull duty of standing around doing nothing – sorry, _standing guard_. 

(It was not like they were needed. If the intruder was dangerous the professors would have stayed to protect the students. They would have, wouldn’t they? Surely the professors of Hogwarts would not be _that_ negligent) 

Instead, he headed over to the twins and, more importantly, their very close friend Lee Jordan. He wanted to know what was going on. Self-preservation. And the best way to do that was to ask Jordan. That boy was aware of most things happening in the castle. 

“Good evening, gentlewizards. I do not suppose one of you would know more about this night’s events?” 

Lee motioned him closer, whispering, “According to Peeves, _Sirius Black_ broke into the castle. Which should be _impossible_ , but it seems the professors are taking it seriously so it might be true.” 

That… was not reassuring. The man who was, according to the ministry (but could you _really_ trust them) after Harry. 

_Harry_ ! 

Tom ~~franticly~~ – _hastily_ glanced around the Hall, searching for the distinctive mop of mindbogglingly unruly hair. It only took him a moment to locate the boy he had been looking for. Tom released a breath he had not even known he had been holding. Harry was safe. Or as safe as one could be when a crazed murderer out for your blood was near. Because if this Sirius Black was sniffing around Gryffindor tower, there might sadly be some truth to the concerns held by the ministry (loath as Tom was to admit that). 

Maybethat ‘Putting-Prefects-to-Guard-the-Students’s-Lives-all-by-Themselves’ plan of the professor’s had been a bit ill-advised. No, cross out the maybe. It was, without a single doubt, a _terrible idea_ – nothing _maybe_ about it. 

Especially as the person Black was after was _inside_ the room they had set _children_ to guard. Making students with little to no battle experience go up against a trained Death Eater was like asking for a blood bath! 

Not that Tom wanted to send Harry out to fend for himself in the hopes of Black leaving the rest of them alive, even if it was a tactically sound strategy. For better or for worse (and Tom felt inclined to go with _worse_ ) Tom cared about the younger boy. Even if this attachment was one of the dreadful side-effects of having absorbed parts of the twins’ souls, the feeling _was_ there. And seeing as it _was_ there Tom had no choice but to deal with it. 

This meant that tonight, Tom would not get the sleep he so dearly longed for. If a murderer was to invade the Great Hall, Tom would prefer not to be caught in the crossfire. Which meant he actually had to be awake to defend himself (… and protect the people he had grown somewhat _fond_ of. Urges to defend others were _so_ _bothersome_ ). 

And speaking of Black, he was no doubt the ‘intruder’ Mrs Farley had referred to. An encounter he informed the three Gryffindors off. 

“Is she running around in shame, crying her eyes out hiding from the world?” Lee asked in half seriousness. 

“No,” Tom answered, somewhat puzzled. But after a moment the connections in Tom’s brain clicked – _that_ was what the portrait had requested Parkinson to make Peeves do. And Tom had _broken_ the woman’s cover in his sleep-deprived state. “What I meant to answer was – yes,” he then added with perfect solemnity. 

Lee did not look convinced. “Are you sure? Peeves do like to exaggerate, after all.” 

Tom raised a challenging brow, but before he could reply Fred cuffed his friend over the head. “Of course she’s not, Lee. You _know_ her. Has the Fat Lady _ever_ acted in a way that’d imply some second-rate thug would be able to scare her off?” 

“When you put it like that it does sound a bit ludicrous,” Lee admitted. 

This is why Tom usually did not bother to even attempt to help others. Because when you _do_ it will turn out that the portrait you had been lying on behalf of had _already_ disclosed their true character. You’ll learn that there was _no_ reason to put up a ruse in the first place! And what a choice of confidants. A trio of _nincompoops_. Tom was loath to waste his precious intellectual abilities on _nothing_. 

Lee settled down atop his sleeping bag; George having laid out the three the Gryffindors had been given in a row. Taking a closer look revealed that _Tom’s_ sleeping bag was lying next to George’s (just _when_ had George gotten his hand on it?). 

Lee looked off into the distance before speaking. “I find it suspicious that Black was able to enter the castle at all. One would think the dementors would have stopped him, or that at least _one_ of the portraits would have noticed him _before_ he arrived outside the Gryffindor common room. It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Fred and George also sat down upon their sleeping bags, George grabbing onto Tom’s arm and dragging him down with them. Tom cast a multitude of cushioning charms on the floor while glaring at George. He had planned to cast the spells _before_ sitting down. Once they were sitting comfortably, they settled into a discussion on the multitude of ways Black could have snuck into the castle unnoticed. Their debate was interrupted by Percy hollering about lights out, promptly followed by the Head Boy plunging them into darkness by making all the candles go out simultaneously. Well, mostly darkness. Both the ghosts and stars shining through the enchanted ceiling were casting a low light over the Hall. 

Still, people had begun to settle down and Tom did not feel inclined to shuffle his way across the room, over to where most Slytherins were gathered, in the dark. He did not fancy his chances of making it without stepping on someone, which would be bad for his image (sadly – Bletchley had made the activity look fun). 

It seemed Tom would be sitting vigil right here for the night. 

Well, at least Tom had something interesting to write home about after the evening’s events. Frances did so appreciate drama. 

oooOOooo 

George and Fred were hurrying across the grounds to reach the quidditch pitch. They had been absorbed in writing a positively obnoxious essay about the habits of unusually bitter dungeon bats for potions, resulting in them forgetting about the fast-approaching start of the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. It was quite tasking in the research department. Therefore, George had been surprised when Angelina burst into their dorm shouting that they _had better_ get their arses down to the changing room in the next fifteen minutes _or else_. Which was why they were currently running full speed across the lawn. George had not even bothered to cast a shield to protect himself from the pouring rain. 

Both he and Fred changed at lightspeed. However, even in George’s mad dash to get his quidditch robes over his head he was able to notice Wood’s rising anxiety. It seemed their seventh-year captain had even worse pre-game jitters than usual. 

When they exited the changing room George staggered to a halt, his twin freezing at his side. The wind had picked up and was flinging rain into George’s face, obscuring his view. Even with his already cast impervious- and warming charms the conditions were unhospitable (George loved to play quidditch no matter the weather. But that did not mean he would not complain about the atrocious elements). 

It was when George began to remove his wand from where it had been secured inside his right boot to strengthened both his and Fred’s charms further, that he noticed something quite upsetting. “ _No_ ,” he groaned out, voice blending with that of his twin who was echoing his words. 

George’s eyes stayed fixed on the opposite team. Among the Slytherins, he saw someone he had dearly hoped would stay banned from participating in Hogwarts quidditch games for her two remaining years at the school. But alas, his hopes had been for nought; Emily Rookwood was back. 

Now, she was a dear friend, but that did not lessen George’s feelings of apprehension one bit. He could already picture the bruises that would cover him and his teammates’ skins alike at the end of this match. 

He glanced at Fred to commiserate but found his brother’s gaze not turned in the direction of the opposite team. No, his brother was staring at the commentator’s box, barely noticeable for the storm. It did not take a genius to guess what had gotten Fred to react in such a way; next to Lee sat the one and only Elestren Parkinson. 

Which meant that for the next however long the match would go on, they would be subject to Lee’s biased commenting (George acknowledge that his dear pacifist of a friend, who always strove to see the best in all living creatures, had a blind spot of massive proportions when it came to quidditch) and Parkinson’s alternating mocking and praising of different manoeuvres depending on her mood. 

Fred let out yet another groan before meeting George’s eyes. “This does not bode well,” he muttered glumly, voice nearly overpowered by the still screaming wind. 

George had to nod in agreement. This game would not be easy. 

oooOOooo 

Tom had decided to sequester himself in the library. If _one more person_ extolled quidditch in his presence today… 

Every single personhe associated with was seemingly obsessed with the sport. And seemingly unable to talk about literally _anything else_ with the game approaching. 

Tom was unable to even begin to comprehend what all the fuss was about. What it was that made all of them think that sitting outside in this horrible weather was a fun and enjoyable pastime. 

But Tom had been successful in avoiding the zealots for two hours now. With only minutes before the first match of the quidditch season was to start Tom now felt safe to assume that no one would be bothering him for the foreseeable future. Entering the library Tom was greeted by blissful silence (if one ignored the howling wind outside the windows), most students currently outside willingly torturing themselves. 

Tom had managed to get caught up in all his subjects. Correction; all but _one_. It was not entirely Tom’s fault, though, with Binns being one of the most incompetent teachers Tom had encountered (so far Tom’s attempts at driving the ghost out of Hogwarts had been unsuccessful, but he _would_ succeed). Not that Tom needed guidance to study. But getting ready for his History of Magic OWLs would have been made significantly easier if he knew what he was supposed to study. 

Not to be deterred, Tom had simply decided to study all major events with big impacts on magical society as a whole, or Magical Britain as a country. Thus, Tom made his way over to the History section of the library. 

Only to almost run straight into another person browsing the shelves. With grace Tom had cultivated to improve his duelling further Tom swiftly sidestepped. But even so, the other student (judging by their robes) startled and dropped the book in their arms, which fell to the floor with a loud thump. 

Tom sent a tendril of wandless magic to lift the book, grabbing it out of the air and holding it out to… T-something Nott, Tom noted. He recognized the boy’s green flecked hazel eyes, the dark blond hair and the somewhat rumpled appearance from those few nights Tom spent reading out in the common room. He had made it a point to at least learn the surnames of those often frequenting the space during late evenings. But most things Tom knew was only from observation, as none of those reading in the common at midnight were ones to often strike up conversations. From what Tom had gathered Nott was a diligent student (when it came to schoolwork, if not his appearance. Not that forgetting to tie one’s tie was _necessarily_ bad, Tom just appreciated tidiness) and a quiet type who spent more time in the Ravenclaw study groups than with his fellow third-year Slytherins. 

But Tom and Nott had conversed on occasion. They did have overlapping interests, going by their choices of reading material. Asking for and giving book recommendation was thus something that had happened over the last months. Not to mention that Nott could not care less about quidditch if he tried. An admirable quality of… _Theodore_ Nott’s (Tom finally recalled). 

Nott inclined his head in gratitude, accepting the book from Tom’s hand. “Thank you, GP.” 

And Tom was reminded that Bletchley was due for another dose of laxatives in his food tomorrow. 

“It was no trouble,” Tom assured the other boy. “What are you looking for?” Tom asked while he began to browse the shelf for himself, looking for encyclopaedias to get an overview of different events. After having asked older students about the tests he had narrowed down what to study for to a few eras and events that were always brought up, but it was still a substantial amount. This was why Tom would read about what had been recommended to evaluate the importance of the advice himself. 

But Tom had manners; so, small talk first, studying later. 

Nott gestured to the section of international magical history, where he had been standing before Tom arrived. “Anything covering the Jaipur Agreement of International Cooperation, 1517, and its impact on the Statute of Secrecy.” 

Tom nodded, indicating that he had heard, while he removed a promising encyclopaedia of international history from a bookshelf. He then turned to where Nott stood and removed two more books from the bottom shelf. “Have you read either of these two?” When Nott shook his head, Tom held out the two, one lighter and one thicker tome, for the other Slytherin. “This one discusses the forming of the International Confederation of Wizards, but it’s got an entire chapter dedicated to the general aspects of the Jaipur Agreement since it had a major impact on the forming of the ICW,” Tom explained, motioning to the thick tome. “You can easily draw parallels between the Agreement, the ICW constitution and the drafted law. Now, this one,” Tom continued, pointing to the smaller book, “is entirely dedicated to the Statue. It has all the original clauses.” 

Nott got a gleam in his eyes, glancing down at the book he was holding. “Right, I could compare the main points of the Jaipur Agreement in this book with the ones written about the Statute.” 

“Just so,” Tom agreed. “Maybe check out a book studding the impact that muggle colonization and tyranny of the 16th century had on magical cooperation as well. Why the sudden interest in this area, by the way?” 

“We’re discussing the Statute in History of Magic, but Binns is almost exclusively talking about the Witch Trials. Which, fair. But it’s only _one_ aspect out of _dozens_ that played a big role! The Trials are not the _sole_ reason we have the Statute,” Nott groused. 

Tom huffed. “It is like saying the death of Arkensant Rowle was the reason behind the fourth Goblin Rebellion,” Tom agreed. 

“Exactly,” Nott affirmed. “It was certainly the final nail in the coffin, but tensions had been running high since the wizards passed their new restrictions on Goblin rights. Blaming a year of rebellion and guerrilla warfare on one assassination is irrational. Now, if only Binns would realize that,” he said, the most animated Tom had ever seen the boy. 

Tom ended up debating different points of the Jaipur Agreement and Binns inadequacy as a teacher instead of reading through his own books. But it was technically studying. It could even be called important studying, seeing as the formation of the ICW and the Statute of Secrecy were common topics for OWLs. 

The evening was rolling in, but Tom and Nott were still immersed in their animated discussion. 

“– I mean, it is a wonderful sentiment, but how much did it _really_ help? Those most likely to be prosecuted as witches were magicals already living outside our bigger communities. Hiding our settlements did not benefit them, and the Statute only began to work as intended, making muggles believe we are fictional characters, years after being instated. By then hundreds more had died,” Nott argued. 

“But they were able to rescue more of our people after the coordinated rescue squads had been implemented.” 

“But those were not regulated by the ICW. That is attributed to a non-governmental relief organization.” 

“According to some, yes. However, if you study the untranslated version of the original documents, you’ll find evidence of…” Tom lost his train of thought when he caught a flash of movement outside the window. “What are they doing?” 

Nott turned around to peer out the window as well. Not that they could see much for the rain, “Are those people down on the pitch?” Nott voiced uncertainly. 

Both Tom and Nott made their way closer to the window. Tom noted the shapes moving underneath the players that Nott had mentioned. Suddenly there was a bright flash, lightning illuminating the grounds. 

Tom’s blood ran cold. “Those are not people… they are dementors,” he breathed out. 

As they watched, those in the stands drew back from the edges. Moments later students began to flee, full-blown panic evident even from far away. 

Nott gazed out; mouth opened in shock. “There must be hundreds of them!” 

The dementors were almost upon the stands when glowing shapes appeared around the Professors’ box. The shapes – Patronuses, Tom was certain – produced by the teachers moved to intercept the dementors, driving the foul creatures back. Tom and Nott observed in tense silence until, finally, the professors had driven the dementors of the grounds. 

“I hope no one was hurt,” Nott said, voice shaking slightly. 

Wanting to know what had happened, the two Slytherins made their way down to the Great Hall to meet those coming back from the pitch. 

oooOOooo 

George took a moment to observe the assorted people currently crowding the infirmary. There was the entire Gryffindor quidditch team (sans Wood) as well as Ron, Hermione and Tom (who was muttering about the ministry’s incompetence. As usual. Although George had to agree with him this time. Placing dementors around a school full of children truly _was_ irresponsible). These were the people clustered around Harry’s bed. 

(George was pretty sure many on the Slytherin team were concerned as well, although none of them had yet to make their way past Madam Pomphrey) 

All of them stood huddled together, mud-splattered robes and water drenched appearance ignored in favour of seeking comfort. George felt cold to his bones, no doubt because of his close encounter with the creatures. The faces around the room told him he was not the only one. So, comforting each other. There was nothing wrong with hugs or whispered comforts after having gotten all up close and personal with those _things_. George could have happily gone his entire life without coming face to _face_ with a dementor – Merlin, their _faces_! Shrivelling, slimy monsters with empty eye sockets! George was scarred for life. 

Which was why he was suing the ministry for chocolate. They owed the students of Hogwarts literal _piles_ of chocolate, in his opinion. _Mountains_ of it! 

(Speaking about chocolate, George leaned over to ruffle around in his twin’s pockets, removing several bars and handing them out – Fred only frowning slightly at the loss) 

Now, even having been _highly_ traumatized, George did not regret the action that led to his unfortunate encounter with the dementor. What had he been supposed to do? Watching Harry fall out of the sky and land in a horde of dementors that were flocking right underneath them had been one of the most terrifying things in his life. He had had to do _something_. 

“I thought he was dead for sure,” Ron murmured, voice shaking. 

“He’s fine. Look,” Fred said, poking Harry’s still form gently. “Not even a scratch on him. Even the glasses are intact! He’ll be right as rain in no time.” 

Angelina sighed long-sufferingly, removing Fred’s hand. “Really, Fred?” 

Just then Harry began to stir on the bed. “Harry!” Fred exclaimed, immediately paling afterwards as Madam Pomphrey sent him an admonishing glare. 

Harry’s eyes began to clear and Hermione, Ron on her heals, moved forward to help him sit up. “Take your time, Harry,” she soothed him. 

Harry blearily looked upon them but let Ron and Alicia arrange some pillows behind his back, so he was propped up comfortably. 

George felt bad about what he would have to do next, but it was unavoidable. Better have it over with quickly. Smiling sadly, George handed over Harry’s Nimbus to the boy, whose expression fell upon taking in the state of his broom. It was in bad condition: the twigs were bent or broken, and the shaft was badly scraped up. While it was still in one peace, George doubted Harry would be able to reach any high speeds with it ever again. “I’m so sorry, Harry.” 

“I – what happened?” 

“The dementors interrupted the match. There were hundreds of them swarming the pitch,” Katie said shakily. 

“You fell off your broom,” Fred continued. “Must’ve been – what – fifty feet?” 

George nodded at his brother’s assessment. 

“You have been unresponsive for a while. We think it’s like what happened on the train,” Hermione elaborated with a sniff. 

George picked up where his brother left off. “Malfoy just managed to catch you before you hit the ground.” 

“Yeah, and then your broom blew away. Ended up in the Whomping Willow for a couple of seconds before Ginny managed to get it.” 

“Hold up!” Harry interrupted. “Did you just say that _Malfoy_ saved me? Are you having me on?!” 

(George for one, did not find the situation to be out of the room of reality. Harry and Malfoy _did_ have a tendency to be somewhat… obsessed with one another. With the two of them being hyperaware of the position of the other at all times, George was not entirely surprised by Malfoy noticing Harry’s fall and hurrying after to catch the Gryffindor. And then promptly passing out. Once Malfoy seemed to realise that he was surrounded by dementors he went out like a light, at which point _George_ had been forced to interfere. And get _traumatized_ ) 

Alicia snorted. “No, it’s the truth. It seems that even the little Malfoy can put aside your – what do you call it again? Ah, right, put aside your ‘ _rivalry_ ’, to stop you from falling to your death. The snakes having those Nimbus 2001s paid off in the end.” 

“If he wasn’t such a brat, I might even have called his actions heroic,” Katie mused. 

Harry was still staring at them disbelievingly, very obviously wondering if they had all lost their minds. “Sure…” 

Hermione suddenly furrowed her brows, looking contemplative. “Malfoy _did_ save Harry. At great risk to his own life as well… Wait, doesn’t this mean that Harry owes him a life debt now?” 

Harry turned white as a sheet. “Surely not,” the Seeker squawked. “That’s not a thing. Right?” 

George _highly_ doubted that someone would ever come to owe the Malfoy brat a life debt. True, that kind of magical bond formed spontaneously, but _only_ when someone was prepared to lay down their own lives to save someone else’s. It was all about the _intent_ , the inherent unselfishness and rectitude of the action. 

…Not that George would be telling _Harry_ this, at least not for a while. This was a prime teasing opportunity! “I didn’t even think of that, Hermione!” George exclaimed in extremely _genuine_ dismay. “I think you might be right!” 

Fred nodded along with a serious expression on his face. 

Tom rolled his eyes. “No, you do not owe him a life debt,” Tom interjected. Way to rain on George’s parade. If a dementor was a happy-memory-sucker than Tom was a _fun-sucker_. 

Which he would have told Tom if Fred had not gotten there first. Not that Tom paid them any head. _Fun_. _Sucker_. 

Tom gave Harry a calming smile. “From what I have heard, Professor Snape cast an _Arresto Momentum_ to slow down your fall. You would not have died even if you were to have hit the ground without – Malfoy, was it? Well, him catching you. Not to mention the specific circumstances required for a life debt to form. Trust me, there is no life debt.” Tom pursed his lips in thought. “However, there _are_ more kinds of magical bonds than life debts. Granted, almost all of them are ceremonial. There are no repercussions beyond the social disproval that comes from not honouring those debts. No magical backlashes. With this in mind, I suppose we cannot fully rule out all debts.” 

Ah, well. Maybe George had been a bit harsh. Tom could also be an arse – only when he did it came out sounding _concerned_ and _helpful_. Well, who knew? It was possible that Tom had tried to be sincere. Emphasis on _tried_. The few times George had seen Tom sincerely try to comfort people had been… well. Tom’s brand of comforting was about as effective as Fred’s was. Which is to say, not all that much. 

Anyway, George could work with this. “He’s right,” George told Harry. “You will probably have to compensate Malfoy _some_ way.” 

Harry sunk back into his pillows and groaned. “I can’t believe this. I must be having a nightmare. Me, owing Malfoy. _Malfoy_!” 

Ron grimaced at the thought. “I’m sorry, mate.” 

Harry stiffened suddenly, something seemingly having occurred to the boy. “What happened to the match? Are we having a replay?” Harry asked franticly. 

George could see Tom rolling his eyes at that question (no doubt lamenting the priorities of ‘quidditch fanatics’). 

“Most likely,” Alicia assured. “With all the commotion Madam Hooch naturally called off the match, and as neither you nor Malfoy caught the Snitch, a rematch does sound like the most logical step in this case.” 

“Yeah, it’s not like we lost! We still have a chance Harry,” Katie said with cheer, munching happily on her third chocolate bar. 

“Someone should tell Wood,” Alicia muttered. 

“Where _is_ Wood?” 

“In the showers,” Fred said. “We think he might be trying to drown himself.” 

“Who’s trying to drown themselves?” Came a voice from behind them. When George turned around, he was met by the sight of Emily and Miles, both of them munching on chocolate frogs. 

“Wood,” George replied. “So, you _did_ manage to find your way in. Won’t Flint murder you if he catches you here?” 

“Of course, we managed to get in, what do you take us for?” Emily scoffed. 

“And since when does anyone care about Flint?” Miles continued in the same derisive tone. “Did you know, the brute even tried to take Adrian off the team this season for being too ‘ _upright_ ’.” 

“Exactly,” Emily said. “I don’t even know what that means.” 

“That he’s the only one of you who’s not a slimy, cheating snake?” George suggested affably. 

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Emily said dismissively. She turned her attention to Harry. “So, how _are_ you doing Potter? Nothing broken, I hope.” 

Harry gave her a small smile. “I’m fine.” 

“Except for the life debt,” Fred shimmed in. 

“It _isn’t_ a life debt,” Tom repeated exasperatedly. 

Ignoring Tom entirely Emily nodded. “Oh yeah, Malfoy has been going on about that.” 

“Ugh…” 

“He got fifty points for it, too. He is ever so pleased, I believe,” Miles said cheerfully before his expression fell. “…Wait. Does that mean we will have to listen to him brag? _Salazar_. The boy will become insufferable!” 

Tom gained a slightly disgruntled look. George could not blame him. The prospect of having to share a common room with a _Malfoy_ that was bragging was not something one looked forwards to. Tom’s expression cleared, though, and his eyes gained a mischievous glint. “I think I might have an idea of how to deal with that debt of yours, Harry. Now, listen; this is what you are going to do…” 


End file.
